LIBRARY  OF 


BEST  AUTHORS 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


1 


WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 


"NOT  TO  BE  MINISTERED  UNTO,  BUT  TO 
MINISTER." 


BY 
MRS.    H.   K.    POTWIN. 


AMERICAN  TRACT  SOCIETY, 

PARK   AVK.    AND  4OTH   ST.,    NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1892, 
AMERICAN  TRACT  SOCIETY. 


GONTBJMTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Uncle  Eric FAOB    7 

CHAPTER  II. 
The  Old  Home ao 


CHAPTER  III. 

Miss  Gray _ . 42 


CHAPTER  IV. 

May  Flowers  ---------------------------------  ..............    54 


CHAPTER  V. 
Barbara's  Visit  _________________  .....  ________________  .  ______    76 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Ministered  Unto  ______  _  ______________________  ...............    90 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Flight  South „ 106 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Inasmuch" 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Bicycle-Riding 139 


258272 


4  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  X. 

Nothing  Venture,  Nothing  Have _ 161 


CHAPTER  XI. 
Life  at  the  South _  188 


CHAPTER  XII. 
Jack's  Disgrace — 207 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Mission  of  the  Wild  Flowers... 227 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
Nature  and  Art 248 


CHAPTER  XV. 
Dot's  Outing _. 274 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
Mother  Kent 296 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Stoops  to  Conquer _ 312 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Maggie's  Vacation — 330 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
"  Father  Dearest " — - 352 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Clare's  Success 369 


CONTENTS.  5 

CHAPTER  XXL 

Left  Behind 388 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
The  Fever __ 401 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

New  Homes .............  415 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  Plague-Stricken  City. 436 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
Welcome  Home.. . . 445 


QMs  Cqn  Do. 


CHAPTER  I. 

UNCLE  ERIC. 

AT  the  age  of  ten  Clare  Hamlin's  education 
passed  into  the  keeping  of  her  father's  younger 
brother,  Eric.  It  came  about  in  this  manner. 
Mrs.  Hamlin  intended  her  daughters,  Clare  and 
Dorothy,  to  be  fitted  to  fill  the  position  in  fash- 
ionable society  which  she  had  herself  held  with 
entire  satisfaction.  To  accomplish  this,  in  con- 
nection with  the  other  branches  of  a  good  educa- 
tion both  girls  were  early  put  upon  a  course 
of  music,  which  one  loved  as  birds  love  to  sing, 
while  Clare  turned  from  the  necessary  drill  as 
a  sensitive  nature  shrinks  from  inharmonious 
sounds,  conscious  of  her  inability  to  produce  any 
other. 

At  this  early  age  Clare  developed  decided 
tastes,  and  knew  that  sound  and  motion  were  not 
among  them  ;  as  well  she  understood  that  form, 
shape,  and  color  gave  the  impulse  to  awaken  her 


8  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

to  life  and  energy.  The  pencil  was  her  cherished 
tool,  and  every  cloud  above,  every  tree  that  up- 
reared  its  graceful  shape,  every  branch  and 
pencilled  twig,  every  varying  leaf  moving  in  the 
wind,  every  flower  or  shape  of  loveliness,  spoke 
to  her  responsive  nature  in  language  which  the 
pretty  Dot  would  never  understand — Dot  two 
years  younger,  brimming  over  with  music  and 
grace. 

Mrs.  Hamlin  was  unaware  of  the  mistake  she 
was  making  in  this  attempt  to  form  two  natures, 
so  unlike,  in  the  same  mould,  and  would  in  her 
eager  ambition  have  persevered  to  the  end,  had 
not  the  young  uncle  with  stern  common  sense 
broken  the  spell  and  opened  her  eyes. 

They  made  a  sweet  picture  this  winter  after- 
noon in  their  mother's  large,  sunny  room,  dressed 
and  ready  for  the  carriage  to  take  them  to  their 
weekly  dancing  lessons.  There  was  satisfaction 
in  every  line  of  the  mother's  beautiful  face  as 
she  smoothed  a  curl  or  arranged  a  fold,  a  finish- 
ing touch  to  a  perfect  toilet. 

Dot  was  rehearsing,  moving  about  the  room 
with  the  freedom  and  grace  of  a  bird  on  the 
wing ;  but  Clare  stood  pale  and  spiritless,  looking 
upon  her  sister  with  utter  discouragement. 

"Clare  dear,  don't  look  so  moody;  you  dis- 
tress me." 

"I  don't  feel  moody,  mamma.     But  don't 


UNCLE   ERIC.  9 

send  me.  If  you  knew  how  I  hated  it,  you  'd  let 
Dot  go  without  me.  I  shall  never  learn.  I 
can't,  I  don't  want  to." 

"  But,  Clare,  you  must  try  to  learn.  This  is 
perfect  folly.  It 's  just  so  every  week.  There  's 
Dot  as  pleasant  and  obedient  as  a  fairy." 

"  Because  she  likes  it,  because  she  is  fairy- 
like  and  can  do  anything  with  her  feet.  My  feet 
wont  dance,  and  I  can't  make  them.  I  do  n't  see 
any  sense  in  it." 

"  Why,  Clare,  it 's  only  to  think  of  your  feet 
all  the  time  until  you  learn  ;  then  they  go  them- 
selves. There !  only  so — and  so — and  then  so — 
do  n't  you  see  how  easy  ?"  chirped  a  little  sprite 
in  blue  silk,  dancing  curls,  and  a  fair  sunny  face, 
the  embodiment  of  good-nature. 

The  elder  sister  looked  on  with  a  most  dis- 
couraged air,  her  mother  giving  the  last  touches 
to  the  hair  that  had  been  heated  and  crimped  and 
frizzed  to  make  it  more  like  Dot's  natural  curls. 
Then  Clare's  skirt  must  be  lifted  a  little  here  or 
twisted  a  trifle  there,  for  nothing  seemed  to  sit 
naturally  upon  her  immature  form  as  it  did 
on  Dot's  round  loveliness. 

"  Of  course  it 's  easy,  if  your  sister  would  try 
to  please  me  ;  there  's  nothing  else  wanting." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  you  know  I  love  to  please  you. 
I  have  tried,  and  it  was  all  for  you." 

"  Well,  well,  do  n't  cry  and  make  your  eyes 


10  WHAT    GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

red.  Turn  out  your  toes.  Look  at  Dot.  She 
never  toes  in,"  said  the  mother  impatiently. 

"  I  know  it,"  sighed  Clare.  Poor  child  !  All 
Dot's  graces  and  loveliness,  her  charming  pos- 
tures, and  bright,  funny  speeches,  were  stereo- 
typed upon  her  heavy,  discouraged  heart.  Dot 
was  lovely  ;  everybody  praised  her.  The  father 
caught  her  in  his  arms  with  a  kiss,  tossed  her  to 
the  ceiling,  gave  her  rides  on  his  broad  shoulder, 
and  laughed  at  every  word  she  spoke.  The  mo- 
ther looked  on  admiringly ;  the  servants  praised 
and  petted  her ;  even  Uncle  Eric  came  from  his 
den  to  bask  in  her  sprightliness  occasionally; 
while  poor  Clare  was  poked  and  stirred  and 
ordered  to  hold  up  her  head,  turn  out  her  toes, 
straighten  her  spine,  and  look  happy,  from  morn- 
ing till  night. 

Look  happy !  She  had  n't  much  to  make  her 
happy.  To  be  sure  they  tried  hard  to  give  her 
hair  a  graceful  curl;  she  had  the  same  lovely 
costumes  and  as  many  as  Dot;  and  she  was 
driven  to  dancing-school  every  week  by  the  ad- 
miring coachman,  and  seated  at  the  piano  two 
weary  hours  a  day,  sick  or  well.  But  she  could 
not  extract  happiness  from  it  as  Dot  did. 

"There's  the  carriage.  Now,  Clare,  don't 
crush  your  skirt  or  get  your  sash  askew,  and  be 
sure  and  watch  Dot ;  you'll  soon  learn  the  new 
steps.  You  know  I  can't  take  you  into  company 


UNCLE  ERIC.  II 

unless  you  are  graceful.  There,  there,  child! 
Toes !  toes !  turn  them  out.  Do  remember !" 

They  were  off,  one  face  the  embodiment  of 
brightness,  the  other  a  picture  of  weary  discour- 
agement. 

Mrs.  Hamlin  turned  to  see  her  brother  stand- 
ing in  the  doorway,  his  hand  grasping  firmly  the 
portiere,  with  a  peculiar  expression  on  his  face. 

She  threw  back  her  head  in  a  defiant,  impa- 
tient way  and  said, 

"  What  is  it,  Eric  ?    The  same  old  story  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  sister.  Not  to  discuss  now  the  grave 
question  whether  it  is  right  for  parents,  especial- 
ly Christian  parents,  to  have  their  children  learn 
to  dance,  it 's  a  mistake  for  Clare  because  she 
does  n't  like  it,  and  in  my  opinion  it 's  a  mistake 
for  Dot  because  she  does  like  it  so  well.  I  am 
sure  when  you  look  at  it  from  the  Christian  mo- 
ther's standpoint  you  will  see  it  so  and  drop  that 
feature  of  their  education.  Besides,  you  are 
trying  to  form  the  rose  and  the  honeysuckle  on 
the  same  model,  whereas  one  can  stand  independ- 
ently and  the  other  must  twine  and  climb." 

"  I  think  I  get  your  meaning,  Eric ;  but  I 
want  Clare  to  be  graceful,  as  Dot  seems  to  be 
naturally.  I  'm  sure  I  do  n't  know  what  else  to 
do.  I  would  not  make  a  mistake  in  training 
them,  but  Clare  wont  learn,  and  yet  I  do  n't 
think  the  child  is  stubborn." 


12  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  Far  from  it,  she 's  discouraged.  How  would 
you  like  to  go  to  Mrs.  Atherton's  reception  and 
be  ordered  to  copy  little  Mrs.  Kendall's  mincing 
walk  or  the  majestic  Mrs.  Pendleton's  deep 
voice  ?  to  have  your  best  friend  assure  you  that 
you  made  a  wretched  appearance,  and  could 
never  improve  unless  you  upset  all  your  own 
individuality  and  adopted  that  of  some  one 
else?" 
'  "  Why,  Eric,  it  is  not  a  case  in  point  at  all." 

"  I  think  it  is." 

"  But  you  '11  acknowledge  that  Dot  is  grace  it- 
self." 

"Clare  has  as  much  grace  of  another  type, 
and  to  me  just  as  beautiful.  My  only  fear  is 
that  you  will  deprive  her  of  it." 

"  Dear  me,  Eric,  what  then  shall  I  do?" 

"  Will  you  do  it,  if  I  tell  you  ?" 

"Perhaps  so.  What  is  it?  Something  un- 
heard of,  I  've  no  doubt." 

"  Let  her  alone,  entirely  and  altogether,  for  a 
time.  Give  her  a  rest,  a  chance  to  breathe.  Let 
her  react  and  come  back  to  her  normal  state  of 
mind  and  body ;  for  Clare  is  half  sick." 

"  What !     Let  her  give  up  dancing  ?" 

"  By  all  means,  if  she  wishes  to." 

"  Why  not  say  music  also  ?  Have  her  come 
up  a  block,  and  done  with  it." 

"  I  do  say  so.    Let  the  music  go ;  she  does  n't 


UNCLE  ERIC.  13 

like  it,  never  will,  any  more  than  she  can  dance. 
If  you  insist  upon  making  a  machine  of  her, 
give  her  a  hand-organ  and  monkey  ;  then  while 
the  hands  are  in  motion  the  brain  can  work 
at  something  she  enjoys,  and  life  will  not  be  all 
wasted." 

"Eric,  you  are  a  crank!  By-and-by  you'll 
have  me  give  up  all  control  of  my  child." 

"  I  think  if  you  keep  up  this  kind  of  control, 
the  Lord  will  soon  interfere." 

"  What  do  you  mean  now  ?"  with  a  deep  flush 
of  impatience. 

"  I  mean,  seriously,  that  this  false  life,  so  dif- 
ferent from  what  her  nature  craves,  is  sapping 
her  vitality.  Dot  can  bear  it;  her  nerves  are 
thickly  covered.  Clare's  seem  to  be  on  the  out- 
side, and  are  irritated  daily,  more  than  I  could 
endure.  Let  her  alone  a  year;  watch  her  as 
closely  as  you  like ;  pet  her  as  you  do  Dot.  By 
that  time  I  think  you  '11  discover  grace  enough, 
and  tastes  to  cultivate  that  will  make  her  as 
charming  in  society  as  Dot's  fingers  and  feet  will 
make  her." 

He  turned  abruptly  and  went  back  to  his 
study,  while  Mrs.  Hamlin  pondered  the  subject, 
called  up  all  Clare's  gentle,  loving  words  and  shy, 
modest  ways,  until  her  heart  grew  very  tender, 
and  she  was  filled  with  shame  that  she  had  given 
the  child  reason  to  doubt  her  love. 


14  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

She  was  impatient  to  have  them  back.  She 
would  make  amends  to  the  sensitive,  shrinking, 
discouraged  girl,  and  be  more  careful  in  the 
future ;  but  she  hardly  thought  it  best  to  allow 
her  to  discontinue  the  dancing  and  music ;  what 
other  accomplishments  could  she  have?  With 
her  bashful,  awkward  ways  she  would  be  a  con- 
stant annoyance  to  herself  and  friends  as  she 
grew  older.  No,  she  could  not  yield  every- 
thing to  Eric's  whims. 

The  afternoon  grew  dark ;  the  day  was  short, 
and  the  room  was  ablaze  with  gas  before  the 
sound  of  carriage -wheels  reached  her.  She 
looked  up  eagerly  to  greet  them.  Dot  came 
bounding  in  and  flew  to  kiss  her  mother  as 
usual.  But  this  time  she  was  quickly  disposed 
of,  and  Mrs.  Hamlin  reached  out  both  hands  to 
Clare,  who  had  followed  languidly  up  the  stairs 
and  into  the  warm,  bright  room.  What  a  con- 
trast she  seemed  to  the  rosy  Dot ! 

"Come  here,  Clare  darling.  What  is  the 
matter  with  mother's  little  girl  ?" 

Clare  looked  wonderingly  into  her  mother's 
eyes  as  she  was  drawn  upon  her  lap ;  then, 
dropping  her  head  upon  her  shoulder,  she  cried 
as  she  had  not  for  many  a  day. 

"  Clare 's  sick,  mamma.  She  has  a  headache, 
and  madame  would  make  her  dance.  She  was 
real  cross  to  her,  and  took  hold  of  her  shoulders 


UNCLE  ERIC.  15 

and  walked  her  around  quick  and  jerky  and 
spoke  sharply  to  her.  I  was  so  angry  that  I 
danced  badly  on  purpose,  but  Clare  only  grew 
pale  and  didn't  speak." 

"  Cruelty  to  dumb  animals  is  nothing  to  it," 
said  Uncle  Eric  over  his  evening  paper. 

The  mother  wiped  her  eyes,  soothed  and 
kissed  her,  and  bathed  the  tired  little  head  until 
the  persecuted  child  grew  calm.  Then  she  said, 

"Clare,  my  darling,  mother  is  going  to  let 
you  give  up  all  this  business  that  you  do  n't  like. 
You  need  n't  go  again." 

She  roused  at  once,  saying,  "  Never  again  ? 
Oh,  mamma,  I  '11  do  anything  to  please  you," 
winding  her  arms  around  her  mother's  neck 
and  nestling  close  to  her  warm  cheek. 

"You  always  have,  dear.  Mother  is  going 
to  try  and  please  you  now ;  so  no  more  dancing 
or  music." 

"  Music  too !    Oh  thank  you,  mamma !" 

Clare  curled  down  again  in  her  mother's 
arms  with  a  sense  of  rest  that  was  new  and 
sweet.  Mrs.  Hamlin  sighed ;  she  had  hoped 
Clare  would  have  liked  to  go  on  with  the  last 
accomplishment. 

Uncle  Eric's  paper  was  laid  aside  and  his 
face  beamed  upon  the  group. 

"  Now,  my  wise  sister,  if  you  would  perfect  a 
good  work,  put  Clare  into  long-sleeved  flannel, 


1 6  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

thick  and  warm  from  neck  to  ankle,  and  give 
her  to  me.  I  want  company  on  my  morn- 
ing tramps.  I  don't  ask  any  better.  Hey, 
Clare?" 

"  Oh,  mamma,  will  you  ?  Oh  how  delightful ! 
Oh,  Uncle  Eric !"  Clare  flew  to  the  table  and 
found  herself  speedily  enveloped  in  her  uncle's 
loose  study  gown.  The  mother,  looking  on, 
said  to  herself, 

"  I  believe  the  child  would  be  graceful  if  she 
could  forget  herself ;  to  be  sure  we  have  never 
given  her  a  chance." 

"  And  what  shall  I  do,  uncle  ?"  asked  Dot. 

"You?  Oh  you  must  keep  on  with  your 
dancing  for  the  present;  butterfly-life  is  what 
you  like,  and  one  pupil  is  enough  for  me." 

A  week  later  Dot  and  her  mother  stood  by 
the  window.  In  the  street  below  Uncle  Eric's 
cutter  waited,  and  presently  he  appeared  with 
Clare  clad  in  a  dark  warm  suit  of  waterproof, 
with  thick  boots  and  woollen  leggins,  looking 
comfortable  and  happy.  She  ran  gayly  down 
the  steps,  waited  to  fling  a  kiss  back  to  the  win- 
dow, then  Uncle  Eric  caught  her  up,  calling 
her  a  bag  of  corn,  and  tossed  her  into  the  seat, 
tucking  the  robes  closely  about  her.  In  a  mo- 
ment they  were  off,  and  from  that  day  Clare's 
future  grew  brighter  and  brighter. 

At  night  Mrs.  Hamlin  asked, 


UNCLE   ERIC.  17 

"  Do  you  wish  her  to  give  tip  school,  Eric, 
and  all  study?  Is  she  to  grow  up  quite  a 
dunce  ?" 

"  Just  as  Clare  herself  says.  She  is  to  decide 
for  this  year,  you  know.  I  'm  ready  to  advise." 

"  Clare,  are  you  intending  to  leave  school  ?" 
asked  the  mother,  half  amused  and  a  little  pro- 
voked that  her  brother  should  carry  his  eccen- 
tricities so  far. 

"Why,  mamma,  I  shall  do  as  you  say.  I 
can't  be  happy  not  to." 

"What  do  you  say,  Clare,  to  studying  with 
me  in  the  library  ?" 

"  And  recite  to  you,  Uncle  Eric  ?" 

"  Yes,  occasionally,  when  we  can't  tramp ; 
take  plenty  of  time  and  fit  for  the  high  school 
by  a  short  cut  ?" 

"  I  'd  like  that,  oh  so  much." 

"  Preposterous !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hamlin. 

"  It  might  be  for  Dot,  but  Clare  must  not  for 
the  present  be  confined  to  rules :  she  must  have 
entire  freedom  of  motion ;  we  can  trust  her. 
She  shall  take  her  exercise  with  me  before  I 
begin  my  work,  and  study  one  hour  each  morn- 
ing and  afternoon  ;  then  she  can  be  with  you  or 
anywhere  the  rest  of  the  time.  Try  it  one  year, 
and  if  you  don't  find  improvement  I  shall  be 
mistaken." 

"Are  you  going  to  take  Clare  all  away  from 

Whit  Q)i  la  C»u  Do.  2 


1 8  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

me,  Uncle  Eric?  I  don't  like  that,"  sang  Dot, 
catching  his  hand  and  swinging  herself  round 
him. 

"  I  do  n't  believe  anything  will  ever  disturb 
you  seriously,  pet.  Go  on  with  your  peculiar 
efforts;  these  chubby  fingers  will  thrill  the 
world  some  day.  But  Clare's  talents  are  hidden 
in  head  and  heart,  and  we  are  going  to  hunt 
them  out." 

As  the  time  slipped  by  Mrs.  Hamlin's  friends 
commented  harshly  sometimes  upon  the  favor 
shown  to  one  child,  while  the  other  was  denied 
the  graceful  accomplishments  a  young  girl  in 
her  position  should  enjoy.  Why  she  was  kept 
so  closely  at  home  could  be  accounted  for  in  no 
other  way. 

Dot  Hamlin,  as  she  was  familiarly  called, 
won  her  way  straight  into  and  over  all  hearts. 
The  sunny  nature  and  musical  voice  of  the 
happy  child  charmed  every  one. 

All  this  time  Clare  was  living  in  a  world  of 
her  own.  Her  uncle  had  taken  her  from  her 
mother's  hands  none  too  soon.  The  poor  little 
heart  was  empty,  the  mind  shrunken  and  star- 
ving. She  was  waiting  to  be  filled. 

She  was  not  indifferent  to  sweet  sounds; 
they  soothed  and  delighted  her ;  but  they  must 
come  from  another  source ;  she  had  no  power  to 
call  them  forth  herself.  The  pleasure  of  drum- 


UNCLE  ERIC.  19 

ming  with  a  stick  on  tin  would  have  been  less 
monotonous  to  her  sensitive  ear  than  her  prac- 
tising had  been.  And  the  decided  failure  she 
had  made  in  dancing  effectually  deprived  her  of 
any  desire  to  mingle  with  gay  friends  for  that 
purpose  as  she  grew  older.  The  soul  had  been 
harshly  dealt  with,  bound  with  heavy,  invisible 
chains  that  would  soon  have  transformed  a  lov- 
ing girl  into  a  cold,  unfeeling  statue.  Uncle 
Eric  had  wisely  snapped  the  bands  and  emanci- 
pated her.  Day  by  day  and  week  by  week  he 
led  her  along,  watching  closely  the  drift  of  her 
mind  and  studying  its  increasing  capabilities, 
until  he  was  sure  she  might  be  urged  safely  in 
this  direction  or  checked  in  that. 

In  the  summer  she  spent  months  with  him 
in  the  open  fields,  the  woods,  among  the  moun- 
tains, until  her  expanding  mind  was  stored  with 
the  wealth  it  craved.  Strong  of  limb  and  light 
of  foot  she  grew,  and  could  follow  him  any- 
where. The  grace  her  mother  had  sought  for 
her  in  the  heated  room,  and  from  painful  be- 
cause disagreeable  attitudes,  she  found  in  larger 
measure  on  the  mountain-sides.  Air  and  exer- 
cise in  plenty  had  rounded  the  cheek  and 
painted  it  with  a  brilliant  and  enduring  bloom. 


20  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  OLD   HOME. 

ONLY  a  week  to  Christmas,  and  the  old  Brain- 
ard  mansion  at  Stanton  Falls  was  lively  with 
the  hum  and  stir  of  preparation.  Not  a  snow- 
flake  had  fallen.  The  autumn  had  been  golden 
and  perfect  from  radiant  earth  to  sun-bright 
sky,  and  the  winter  thus  far  generously  mild 
and  pleasant. 

Here  Clarissa  Brainard  lived  alone  but  for 
the  old  servant  who  had  spent  nearly  a  lifetime 
with  her  and  the  neighbor's  boy  who  came 
morning  and  night  for  chores. 

It  had  been  a  busy  time  in  the  ancient  home. 
Aunt  Clarissa  moved  briskly  from  room  to  room, 
throwing  open  the  old-fashioned  shutters  that 
the  sun  might  stream  into  every  corner  with  its 
health-inspiring  rays,  flicking  every  speck  of 
dust  from  the  carved  wainscotting,  laying  out 
the  lavender-scented  linen  to  warm  and  air  for 
each  guest-room.  The  old  fireplaces  were  piled 
with  wood  ready  for  kindling,  the  brightly  bur- 
nished andirons  waiting  to  reflect  the  ruddy 
flames.  Every  bin  in  the  cellar  was  full  to  over- 
flowing with  fruit  and  vegetables ;  pickles,  pre- 


THE  OLD  HOME.  21 

serves,  and  jars  of  sweetmeats  had  been  long 
prepared ;  while  in  the  garret  stores  of  butternuts 
and  shagbarks  waited  only  for  young  hands  to 
crack  them.  Now  Miss  Brainard  was  consult- 
ing her  factotum  in  regard  to  the  immediate 
needs  of  the  table. 

The  kitchen  was  a  long,  bright  room,  with 
windows  opening  on  three  sides;  two  outside 
doors :  one — its  upper  part  of  glass  with  a  mus- 
lin curtain  partly  drawn  across  it — opened  upon 
a  broad  porch  covered  with  a  leafless  grapevine, 
whose  twisted  trunk  and  branches  closely  inter- 
laced cast  a  flickering  shade  upon  the  well- 
scoured  floor  within.  The  other  door  led  to  the 
woodshed.  Others  pointed  to  the  body  of  the 
house,  the  large  pantry,  and  the  cellar. 

It  was  a  room  for  comfort  as  well  as  work. 
An  old-fashioned  settle  invited  rest  in  one  cor- 
ner. An  easy-chair  and  a  small  stand  near  by 
told  that  mistress  and  maid  sometimes  worked 
together.  The  brick  oven  had  been  heated  and 
filled  with  loves  of  bread  and  cake.  The  hot 
stove  had  helped  to  make  the  long  room  too 
warm  for  comfort,  and  Becky  had  opened  the 
window  looking  into  the  garden.  She  stood 
with  her  back  towards  it  at  a  table,  rolling  pas- 
try into  various  forms  and  filling  sheets  and 
pans  for  the  oven. 

A  tall  gaunt  form,  whereon  hung  a  black 


22  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

skirt  covered  with  a  long  white  apron ;  sleeves 
rolled  up  discovered  sharp  elbows  and  strong 
sinews  well  accustomed  to  toil.  The  clock  on 
the  mantel  ticked  melodiously ;  the  cat  on  the 
hearth  purred  contentedly.  It  was  a  peaceful, 
pleasant  scene,  appreciated  by  a  pair  of  half- 
frightened,  half-mischievous  dark  eyes  peering 
through  the  open  window. 

A  slight,  half-clothed  girl,  with  tangled  hair, 
soiled  hood,  and  ragged  shawl,  stood  on  tip-toe 
without — a  pitiful  little  figure,  who  seemed  to 
enjoy  in  fear  and  trembling  the  warmth  and 
fragrance  that  met  her  eager,  hungry  face. 
How  she  listened  to  the  voices  and  wondered  at 
the  lavish  display,  almost  smacking  her  lips 
with  desire ! 

"Plenty  of  small  cakes,  Becky.  The  chil- 
dren never  tire  of  eating.  Bring  me  that  plat- 
ter ;  1 11  beat  the  whites  for  your  frosting." 

As  Becky  turned  to  obey,  the  frowsy  head 
disappeared. 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Becky;  "four  pans  of 
puffs,  four  of  cranberry-tarts,  plenty  of  cookies 
and  crullers ;  then  the  fruit  and  white  cake  all 
ready,  with  each  one's  loaf  ready  frosted  and 
sugar-plums  atop.  The  table  '11  look  fine  to  my 
eye.  The  pullets  are  fat  as  butter.  Sam  is 
faithful  as  any  boy  can  be.  Whew!  I  must 
stop  talking.  A  little  too  brown,  but  the  frost 


THE  OLD   HOME.  23 

will  set  that  right,  and  children  a'n't  apt  to  be 
over  fussy,  bless  them !  Wont  they  upset  the 
whole  house  and  turn  things  topsy-turvy !  Five 
this  year,  miss." 

"Yes,  Becky.  I  can  hardly  wait  to  see  the 
baby,  the  dear  fellow  with  his  two  rollicking 
boys,  the  dear  mother,  and  that  little  stranger. 
I  am  as  impatient  as  a  child,  Becky." 

"  No  wonder,  miss ;  I  could  n't  wait  myself 
if  it  were  n't  for  getting  ready.  Tut-tut !  puffs 
will  spoil.  Ah  that 's  a  fair  bake,  see !" 

"Yes,  just  a  lovely  brown." 

Taking  them  from  the  oven,  Becky  slid  the 
pan  along  the  table.  Then  seeing  the  shadow 
of  a  head  moving  as  she  turned,  she  exclaimed, 

"Who's  there?  Why,  Mag,  you  idle  good- 
for-nothing,  what  are  you  prowling  round 
here  again  for?  You  ought  to  be  at  work. 
Here,  you  've  no  call  to  run.  Take  a  cake,  child. 
Then  go  home  and  go  to  work.  All  the  time 
racing  the  streets.  What'd  you  come  here  for 
anyway  ?" 

"  Smelt  good !"  grasping  the  cakes  and  bi- 
ting voraciously. 

"Did,  hey?  Well,  you'll  never  fatten  on 
smells.  Now  start." 

"  No,  no,  Becky !  Give  her  more ;  I  believe 
she  's  hungry." 

"Well,  take  this;  and  this  is  a  little  dark. 


24  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

Now  off  with  you.  After  Christmas  you  can 
have  what 's  left.  Start !" 

Mrs.  Hamlin  was  Clarissa  Brainard's  younger 
sister,  and  with  her  brother's  family,  whose 
home  was  in  a  Western  city,  was  anticipating  a 
reunion  within  the  walls  of  their  early  home 
where  the  elder  sister  still  kept  up  the  customs 
and  style  of  a  past  generation. 

Christmas  eve  found  them  all  together,  re- 
hearsing the  experiences  of  the  year,  rejoicing 
in  the  annual  home-coming  with  the  five  chil- 
dren :  Clare,  named  for  her  aunt  and  very  dear 
to  her;  Dot,  .a  general  favorite;  Ned,  *a  year 
older  than  Clare ;  and  Harry,  younger  than  Dot. 
Uncle  Eric  was  of  the  number ;  no  family  gath- 
ering could  be  complete  without  him  ;  while  the 
baby  sister  was  the  plaything  of  each  and  all. 

One  room  was  mysteriously  locked  and  not 
to  be  opened  till  Christmas  evening ;  apart  from 
that  the  whole  house  was  ablaze  with  light  and 
glowing  with  the  warmth  of  fires  in  each  room. 
Doors  stood  open  from  kitchen  to  parlor,  and 
the  boys  and  girls  were  everywhere. 

Just  now  Harry  was  playing  with  his  little 
sister,  and  Ned  was  listening  to  an  exciting  con- 
versation between  the  brothers,  when  Dot  ran 
in  from  another  room  and  drawing  Clare  away, 
whispered, 

"  I  Ve  seen  her  again,  Clare.     She 's  been 


THE  OLD  HOM&  25 

hanging  round  here  the  last  half -hour,  and 
every  time  any  one  comes  in  sight  she  slips 
behind  the  well  or  back  of  the  ash-barrel.  She 
looks  awful  cold  and  hungry ;  her  toes  all  stick 
out,  bare  as  can  be." 

"  Perhaps  she 's  trying  to  steal.  Let 's  go 
scare  her  away."  Clare's  city  vigilance  had 
taught  her  to  be  suspicious. 

"  Well,  let 's.  Becky  's  awful  careless  ;  she 
leaves  all  the  doors  wide  open  and  unlocked, 
and  she,  way  up  stairs  making  the  fires  burn. 
Anybody  might  steal  just  as  easy,  you  know." 

"  So  they  might.  P'r'aps  she 's  a  gypsy." 
Clare  had  been  reading  of  these  vagrants. 

"Oh  my!  I  believe  she  is.  Let's  catch 
her.  She  's  as  little  as  I  am.  There !  just  peek 
out ;  she 's  looking  over  the  barrel ;  see  her  ?" 

"  Yes,  the  moon  makes  her  face  awful  white. 
1 11  tell  you,  Dot,  I  'm  the  strongest ;  I  '11  go 
one  side  and  you  the  other.  We  '11  catch  her 
and  make  her  tell  our  fortunes." 

"  Oh  that  '11  be  splendid  !  We  '11  make  auntie 
have  her  tell  all  our  fortunes." 

"  Now  be  ready.  I  see  her  hood.  You  just 
run  when  I  do,  and  do  n't  speak  a  word  till  we 
get  hold  of  her." 

Swinging  open  the  porch  door,  they  made  a 
sudden  rush,  one  on  each  side  the  barrel,  and 
seized  together  the  frightened  stranger. 


26  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

"  We  Ve  caught  you !"  exclaimed  Clare. 

"  Yes,  we  've  caught  you !"  echoed  Dot. 

"  Le'  me  'lone !  I  say,  le'  me  'lone !"  gasped 
th-e  startled  child,  struggling  to  free  herself 
from  the  firm,  healthy,  grasping  hands  of  the 
two.  "  O-o-o-h,  le'  me  go !  You  shall!" 

"  No,  you  can't  go.  Come  into  the  kitchen. 
You  must  tell  our  fortunes,"  answered  Clare, 
pulling  her  towards  the  house  despite  her  des- 
perate resistance. 

"Don't,  oh  don't;  she'll  beat  me.  Le'me 
go !  1 11  never  come  again.  Oh,  oh,  le'  me  go, 
I  say.  I  '11  bite  you !"  turning  ferociously  upon 
Clare. 

"  No  you  wont.  Push  her  in,  Dot.  There ! 
Now  tell  us  who  you  are  and  we  '11  let  you  go ;" 
as  with  an  energetic  shove  they  moved  her  with 
quick  impetus  into  the  middle  of  the  warm 
kitchen  and  shut  and  locked  the  door. 

She  turned  towards  them  with  a  strange  mix- 
ture of  fear  and  defiance  in  her  black  eyes,  and 
stood  rigid  as  a  statue,  her  lips  pressed  together, 
her  hood  hanging  from  her  neck,  and  the  mat- 
ted hair  flung  in  stray  unkempt  locks  about  the 
dark  brow  and  swarthy  cheek. 

"She  is  a  gypsy,"  whispered  Dot  mysteri- 
ously, while  Clare,  half  repenting  her  part  in  the 
performance,  asked  gently, 

"Are  you  a  gypsy  ?" 


THE  OLD  HOME.  2/ 

"A  what?"  was  the  scowling  interrogatory. 

"A  gypsy — do  n't  you  know  ?  They  tell  for- 
tunes." 

"  No,  I  dunno.  I  a'n't  nothing.  I  hate  you 
both,  I  do,  with  your  nice  clo'es.  Le'  me  go,  or 
I  '11  holler  an'  tell  the  woman.  I  '11  scream,  I 
will." 

"  What  woman  ?    Becky  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  will.    There — now — I  'm  goin*  to." 

"  Did  you  want  to  steal  ?"  asked  Dot  sweetly. 

The  girl  grew  frightened  and  humble. 

"No,  not  here;  truly  I  didn't.  Oh  please 
lef  me  out.  I  promised  not  to  stay  long." 

"  Promised  who?" 

"OleSal." 

"  Tell  us  what  you  came  for  yesterday  and 
to-night ;  then  we  '11  let  you  go." 

"  I  only  wanted  to  see  how  happy  you  was. 
It  looked  warm  and  good.  That's  all  I  came 
here  for.  I  never  steals  from  her ;  she  gives  me 
cakes  sometimes.  Now  may  I  go  ?" 

"Where  do  you  live?  Who  takes  care  of 
you?  What  is  your  name  ?"  asked  Clare. 

"  I  lives  with  the  ole  woman,  drunken  Sal, 
that 's  where  I  lives.  I  takes  care  o'  myself." 

"  What 's  your  name  ?" 

"Mag.  Now  may  I  go?"  She  was  getting 
over  her  fright. 

"  Do  n't    go     yet,    Maggie.      We  're    your 


28  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

friends.  We  only  wanted  to  have  some  fun 
with  you." 

The  forlorn  creature  looked  as  though  she 
thought  the  fun  was  all  on  one  side. 

"Yes,  we're  your  friends,  Maggie;  it's  only 
fun,"  echoed  Dot. 

"  Wont  you  tell  on  me  ?" 

"  No  indeed,  of  course  not,  if  you  do  n't  steal. 
Are  you  cold  ?" 

"  I  do  n't  know ;  guess  not." 

"Hungry?" 

Oh  what  pleading  depths  did  the  hungry 
eyes  disclose ;  how  the  eager  lips,  so  thin  and 
famished,  quivered  out  the  answer,  "  I  'm  always 
hungry." 

"Oh,  poor  thing!"  exclaimed  Clare  pit- 
eously. 

"  Oh !"  repeated  Dot  in  the  same  tone. 

"  I  '11  give  you  something  to  eat.  Aunt  Cla- 
rissa says  we  are  to  get  all  we  want  from  the 
pantry,  every  one  of  us,  so  as  not  to  keep  her 
running  all  the  time.  Wont  you  run  away  if  I 
get  you  something  good?" 

"  No."    The  wild  eyes  glistened  with  hope. 

Dot  still  guarded  the  door  and  watched  the 
strange  figure  standing  before  her,  while  Clare 
soon  emerged  from  the  pantry  with  hands  full 
of  cookies  and  a  large  mince  turnover,  which 
the  girl  grasped  eagerly,  biting  into  it  at  once. 


THE  OLD   HOME.  29 

For  a  few  moments  they  watched  her  quietly, 
wondering  how  it  would  feel  to  be  so  hungry ; 
then  Clare  went  again  and  brought  her  a  tum- 
bler of  milk,  which  she  drank  off  without  paus- 
ing for  breath. 

"  Good  ?"  asked  Clare. 

A  nod  of  the  shaggy  head  was  the  only 
reply. 

"  Is  drunken  Sal  your  mother  ?" 

"No,  I  guess  not." 

"  Where  is  your  mother  ?" 

"  Dunno.     Have  n't  any." 

"What  makes  you  steal?"  real  sympathy 
speaking  from  Clare's  blue  eyes. 

"She  makes  me — ole  Sal." 

"I  wouldn't  steal  for  her!"  exclaimed  Dot 
indignantly. 

"  She  'd  kill  you  if  you  did  n't." 

"  Would  she  kill  you?"     Dot  grew  pale. 

"  Yes,  she  has  a  good  many  times,  most." 

"  She  ought  to  be  hung !  She 's  awful. 
What  do  you  live  with  her  for,  if  she  is  n't  your 
mother?" 

"  Dunno  where  else  to  live ;  nobody  '11  have 
me." 

"  It 's  too  bad.  I  'd  have  you  if  I  was  a  wo- 
man, and  teach  you  to  be  good  and  give  you 
lots  to  eat,  and  presents  too — Christmas  pres- 
ents. Did  you  ever  have  any  ?"  asked  Clare. 


3O  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  No,  never." 

"Never  see  a  Christmas-tree  all  full  of 
'em?" 

"  No,"  gulping  down  the  last  of  the  cookies. 

"  But  that 's  perfectly  awful,  Clare,  never  to 
see  a  Christmas  -  tree !  Ever  hang  up  your 
stocking  ?" 

"Of  course  not,  Dot;  don't  you  see  they 
wouldn't  hold  anything — all  holes  !" 

"  O  Clare,  let 's  surprise  'em  all.  Let 's  have 
her  come  to  the  tree  to-morrow.  There  's  one 
in  that  locked-up  room,  I  know.  We'll  have 
her  come  to  it." 

Dot  danced  across  the  floor. 

"  She  a'n't  fit,"  responded  Clare. 

They  looked  thoughtful  a  moment;  then 
brightening,  Clare  said, 

"  We  might  put  on  one  of  your  dresses.  She 
is  as  big  as  you.  Will  you  come?"  turning  to 
the  girl,  who  was  intently  listening. 

"  Wont  the  woman  be  mad  ?" 

"  Auntie  ?  Pooh,  no !  We  make  her  do  just 
as  we  want  her  to,  have  many  a  time.  You 
come,  and  we  '11  dress  you  all  up  lovely  and  show 
you  elegant  things.  Will  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  11  take  the  blame.  She  sha'  n't 
beat  me." 

"No,  I  guess  not!"  Dot  tossed  her  proud 
little  head  very  decidedly. 


THE  OLD   HOME.  31 

"  Only  you  must  wash  clean ;  be  sure  now,  all 
over,  or  I  can't  put  Dot's  dress  on  you." 

The  child  nodded  and  grinned,  saying, 

"  Are  you  true  now  ?    No  game  ?" 

"  Truly  !  We  '11  take  care  of  you  and  give 
you  lots  of  goodies  to  eat.  You  '11  come  ?" 

"  Yes.    When  ?"  her  eyes  fairly  glittering. 

"  After  dinner.  Mamma  and  auntie  will  be 
taking  a  nap,  the  boys  '11  be  out  of  the  way. 
We  '11  be  looking  out  the  front-door  and  take 
you  right  up  to  our  room,  and  nobody  '11  know 
you.  Oh  wont  it  be  fun  !" 

"  Splendid  !  She  '11  have  a  good  time  for 
once,  wont  she,  Clare  ?" 

"  And  plenty  to  eat." 

"  And  all  clean,  too,"  laughed  Dot. 

"  Now  go  quick,  so  Becky  wont  see  you." 

"  Be  sure  and  wash  you  all  over,"  was  the 
parting  injunction  as  they  hurried  her  into  the 
yard  and  away.  Then  with  gurgles  of  low 
laughter  they  scampered  back  to  where  the 
family  were  still  interested  in  reminiscences  of 
the  past. 

Becky's  Christmas  dinner  was  a  surprise  to 
herself,  and  the  children's  praise  was  unbounded. 
Becky's  gratification  was  at  its  height.  The 
two  mothers  helped  to  clear  everything  away 
before  they  took  their  afternoon  rest,  and  by 
four  o'clock  the  house  was  still  as  at  night.  The 


32  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

boys  went  down  the  village  street  to  hunt  up 
old  friends,  and  the  two  girls  were  left  to  amuse 
themselves,  Aunt  Clarissa  bidding  them  have 
their  gifts  ready  to  hang  on  the  tree  by  five 
o'clock. 

"  Then  it  is  a  tree,  auntie  ?"  said  Clare. 

"Who  said  it  was  a  tree,  Petkin ?" 

"  Why  you  just  said  so  yourself." 

"  Well,  who  'd  have  thought  I  'd  let  the  cat 
out  of  the  bag !  But  keep  the  secret,  girls ;  do  n't 
say  a  word  to  the  boys." 

"  No,  we  surely  wont,"  delighted. 

At  night  the  boys  came  with  shouts  and 
laughter.  Baby  woke,  and  Harry,  who  was  his 
mother's  boy,  took  the  wee  thing  and  cared  ten- 
derly for  it.  Numberless  raps  on  the  girls'  door 
were  unheeded.  "  We  must  not  be  disturbed 
till  evening,"  shouted  Dot. 

44  Let  them  alone.  Their  secrets  are  as  pre- 
cious as  ours,"  said  Aunt  Clarissa,  and  the  pair 
were  undisturbed  from  that  time. 

Two  hours  before  they  had  peered  from  a 
window  until  the  ragged  hood  came  in  sight ; 
slipping  out  they  hustled  the  strange  child  up 
to  their  room  and  began  operations.  Dot's 
dresses  were  looked  over ;  a  plain  scarlet  merino 
chosen  as  best  suited,  Clare  said,  to  the  black 
eyes  and  dark  hair  of  the  girl.  But  that  hair  ! 
What  could  they  do  with  it  —  a  tangled,  frowzy 


THE  OLD   HOME.  33 

mass.  No  common-sized  comb  could  force  its 
way  through  such  a  labyrinth.  The  trio  stood 
perplexed.  Maggie  bore  the  remarks,  the  pull- 
ing and  breaking,  with  great  patience.  Indeed 
the  pain  of  the  process  was  more  than  counter- 
acted by  the  pleasing  sensation  of  being  dressed 
in  something  besides  rags. 

At  last  in  despair  they  were  obliged  to  say  it 
could  not  be  done — never  would  come  decent. 
She  could  n't  have  the  dress  on  with  such  a  head 
anyway. 

Maggie's  disappointment  was  dreadful  to 
bear.  Tears  started — tears  that  would  not  have 
shown  themselves  had  every  hair  been  pulled 
out,  so  pleased  was  this  waif  at  the  strange  turn 
of  affairs.  Must  her  delight  be  nipped  in  the 
bud  ?  Must  she  look  at  that  lovely  dress  and 
not  put  it  on  ?  Black  stockings  and  whole  boots 
on  her  half-frozen  feet,  only  to  come  off  so  soon  ? 
Wash  herself  all  over  for  nothing  ?  Not  if  she 
knew  it.  Quick  at  expedients,  she  glanced  from 
one  sister  to  the  other,  then  grasping  from  the 
table  a  pair  of  scissors,  gave  them  to  Clare,  say- 
ing, 

"  Cut  it  off." 

"Your  hair?" 

"  Yes,  every  bit." 

"  Wont  old  Sal  whip  you  ?" 

"  I  do  n't  care  ;  cut  it  off." 

What  Qirli  can  Do. 


34  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

That  was  an  easier  matter.  Dot  held  a  towel 
while  Clare  played  barber  and  used  the  shears 
courageously.  It  was  not  artistically  done,  per- 
haps, but  no  sooner  was  the  tangled  mass  lying 
in  the  towel  than  the  wild  girl  impetuously 
grasped  a  comb  and  tore  it  with  worthy  deter- 
mination through  the  little  that  remained  on  her 
shorn  head. 

Soon,  the  dress  on,  a  dainty  white  apron  over 
it,  a  tiny  ruffle  in  the  neck,  and  she  stood  before 
them  a  lovely  picture  of  their  perseverance,  cour- 
age, and  charity. 

Maggie  gazed  at  them  and  they  at  her.  She 
laughed  in  their  faces,  smoothed  the  soft  folds 
of  the  frock,  looked  admiringly  in  the  glass  at 
her  unusual  reflection,  and  laughed  again  with  a 
ripple  of  real  gladness  which  they  echoed  right 
heartily. 

"  Does  n't  she  look  sweet,  Clare  ?" 

"Yes,  Dot,  so  clean  and  nice." 

"  Now  she  belongs  to  us  two,  does  n't  she  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  only  for  to-night." 

"  I  wish  we  could  keep  her  always." 

"  So  do  I,  Dot." 

They  turned  to  their  presents,  whispered 
long  and  earnestly  over  two  packages. 

"  If  she  belongs  to  us,  she  ought  to  have  a 
present."  They  finally  concluded  to  give  to 
Maggie  the  gift  each  had  prepared  for  the  other. 


THE  OLD  HOME.  35 

"  We  have  plenty,  Dot,  and  we  know  we  love 
each  other ;  she  wont  know  we  love  her  unless 
we  give  her  something." 

"  Yes,  you  mark  them  over." 

While  Clare  was  writing  Maggie's  name  on 
the  two  packages,  Dot  turned  to  the  bewildered 
child. 

"  You  wont  ever  steal  again  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,"  with  a  toss  of  scorn  at  her 
former  pursuits. 

"  'Cause  you  can't  be  a  lady  if  you  steal,  and 
you  can't  belong  to  us.  We  can't  love  you,  you 
know." 

"  I  know,"  with  a  nod  of  satisfaction. 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  good  enough  to  have 
Jesus  love  you,"  added  Clare,  with  a  heavy  sigh, 
as  the  responsibility  of  work  in  evangelizing 
this  little  sinner  flashed  across  her  young  mind. 

"  I  do  n't  want  anybody  else  to  love  me." 

"  Oh  don't  say  that.  If  Jesus  doesn't  love 
you,  we  can't  either." 

"  Can't  ?    Well  he  may  then.     I  do  n't  care." 

"  Why,  Maggie,  do  n't  you  know  about  him  ?" 

"I  've  heard  of  him.  Never  seen  him 
though." 

"We  haven't  seen  him,  but  we  love  him. 
He  is  our  best  friend." 

"Oh-h-h!" 

Aunt  Clarissa  called, 


36  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

"  Come,  girls ;  we  are  ready." 

"Coming,  auntie."  They  took  Maggie  be. 
tween  them.  She  was  in  a  tremor  of  doubt  and 
undefined  fear. 

The  procession  was  moving  towards  the 
closed  room.  Aunt  Clarissa  was  systematic 
always ;  with  key  in  hand  she  led  the  way,  the 
eager  boys  close  behind,  Uncle  Eric,  with  the 
crowing,  white-robed  baby  held  high,  the  two 
mothers,  Becky  smiling  broadly,  and  the  girls 
bringing  up  the  rear.  In  the  confusion  Maggie 
was  unnoticed. 

A  blaze  of  light  met  them,  and  the  tree, 
loaded  with  gifts,  glittered  and  quivered  and 
welcomed  them  as  though  it  lived  and  spoke. 

To  Maggie  it  was  unreal  and  wonderful,  a 
bright  picture  of  fairyland.  Holding  tightly  to 
Clare's  hand,  she  gazed  in  silence  until  Uncle 
Eric,  giving  up  the  baby,  began  the  distribu- 
tion. How  delightful  it  was !  Every  hand  held 
something  of  value  to  its  recipient. 

"  Something  for  Maggie.     Who  is  Maggie?" 

"  It  must  be  Becky,  Eric." 

"  Here  she  is,  auntie.  I  invited  her ;  I  thought 
you  wouldn't  care." 

"  Bless  you,  dear,  no,  indeed.  That 's  your 
secret,  is  it?  Well,  Miss  Maggie,  whoever  you 
may  be,  you  will  like  this." 

Mrs.  Hamlin  watched  the  girls  after  this; 


THE   OLD   HOME,  37 

she  recognized  the  box  as  Clare's  intended  gift 
to  Dot.  Some  mystery  to  solve,  she  thought. 

Maggie  took  it  like  one  in  a  maze.  Soon  her 
name  was  read  again.  This  time  a  book. 

"  Dot's  book,"  said  the  mother  to  herself. 

"  Clare,  who  is  your  little  friend  ?  I  've  seen 
that  face  before,  have  n't  I  ?"  asked  Aunt  Clar- 
issa. 

"  You  may !"  said  Becky  from  the  doorway. 

"  I  do  n't  know  her  other  name.  Do  n't  make 
her  afraid,  auntie." 

"  Certainly  not.  What  put  that  in  your  head, 
chick  ?  Where  do  you  live,  dear  ?"  addressing 
the  startled  Maggie. 

"  I  'm  Mag,  marm.     I  lives  with  ole  Sal." 

"Oho-ho-ho!  Why,  Clare,  what  does  this 
mean  ?" 

"  I  did  n't  go  to  come.  They  said  you  should 
not  put  the  blame  on  me"  answered  Maggie  with 
spirit. 

"  Auntie,  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it."  Clare 
had  caught  Uncle  Eric's  gaze.  "  She  is  n't  a  bit 
to  blame.  Dot  and  I  got  her  here  just  for  fun. 
She  was  awful  hungry." 

"  And  dirty,"  broke  in  Dot. 

"  Always  is,"  from  the  grim  Becky. 

"  And  I  gave  her  something  to  eat.  Dot  and 
I  went  without  our  cookies  all  the  next  day. 
She  never  saw  a  Christmas-tree  or  had  any  fun, 


38  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

and  we  got  her  tip  to  our  room  and  dressed 
her — and — and — ' ' 

"  She  washed  herself  clean  all  over,  truly." 
Dot  had  caught  her  mother's  eyes  resting  on  the 
merino  dress. 

"  She 's  clean  as  anybody.  We  cut  off  her 
hair  and  gave  her  our  presents.  She  never 
steals  here,  auntie,  and  I  think  she  ought  to 
have  one  good  time  in  her  life,  I  do."  The 
words  came  from  Clare  with  strange  impetuos- 
ity, and  fairly  overcome  she  burst  into  tears. 

Uncle  Eric  bit  his  lip  to  hide  a  smile. 

"  So  she  had,  dear.  It 's  all  right.  I  'm  glad 
she 's  here ;  do  n't  cry.  It 's  all  very  nice.  She 
has  Dot's  dress  on,  has  n't  she  ?"  Aunt  Clarissa's 
tones  were  soothing. 

"  Yes.  Clare  said  it  matched  her  looks  best, 
and  she  is  perfectly  clean,  mamma." 

"  I  said  it  was  most  becoming  to  her  style," 
interrupted  Clare,  wiping  her  eyes. 

"  So  it  is,  Clare.  Your  taste  is  always  capi- 
tal," whispered  Ned.  Harry  gave  a  blast  on  his 
trumpet  and  the  baby  howled  gleefully. 

Curious  glances  were  directed  towards  the 
stranger.  She  bore  them  unflinchingly ;  she 
did  not  feel  herself  responsible  for  being  there, 
and  she  trusted  her  brave  young  protectors. 

"  Clare  !  You !  Be  these  things  to  keep  ? 
Ole  Sail  '11  sell  'em  for  rum." 


THE  OLD   HOME.  39 

"Of  course  they  are  to  keep.  She  sha'n't 
sell  them." 

"  But  she  will.  I  do  n't  mind  the  beating ; 
but  if  she  sells  these — ."  The  idea  was  too  pain- 
ful. Maggie's  eyes  filled. 

"  Mamma !  It 's  dreadful !  She  says  that 
woman  will  sell  her  things.  She  isn't  her  mo- 
ther, and  she  makes  her  steal." 

"  She 's  awful  to  her,"  added  Dot. 

"  It  is  a  hard  case,"  from  Aunt  Clarissa. 

"  Why  do  n't  your  selectmen  look  into  it  ?" 

"Clarissa,  why  don't  you  keep  her  here? 
You  have  room  and  time  and  heart  too." 

"  Yes,  auntie.    Oh  if  you  would !"  from  Clare. 

"  She  's  smart  enough  to  be  of  use,  and  may 
prove  a  blessing,"  and  the  mother  of  the  boys 
hugged  the  lovely  baby  tightly. 

Aunt  Clarissa  looked  bewildered  until  Clare 
wound  an  arm  about  her  neck. 

"O  auntie,  I  shall  love  you  for  ever  if  you 
do." 

"  You  are  my  child,  Clare.    Can  I  have  two  ?" 

"We  are  all  yours,"  from  Ned,  who  pitied 
the  little  beggar,  listening  with  wide  eyes  turn- 
ing from  one  to  another. 

"  Maggie,  would  you  be  a  good  girl  if  you 
could  stay  with  me?"  Aunt  Clarissa  tried  to 
look  sternly  at  her,  but  the  girl  saw  beneath  the 
mask. 


4O  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

"  I  '11  do  all  you  say.  I  will  try."  The  voice 
trembled  and  the  whole  slight  form  quivered 
with  hope  and  fear. 

"  Well,  child,  stay  to-night ;  in  the  morning 
I  '11  see." 

"  What  do  you  say,  Becky  ?" 

"  She  might  learn  to  wash  dishes."  The  one 
thing  in  Becky's  domain  that  was  burdensome 
to  her. 

The  children  hugged  their  auntie  until  she 
was  fain  to  beg  a  truce. 

The  next  morning  Maggie  appeared  in  a 
frock  of  Clare's.  Their  mother  had  laid  aside 
the  garments  she  was  willing  they  should  be 
generous  with,  Dot  reminding  her  that  it  was 
the  same  as  doing  it  for  Jesus.  " '  Naked  and 
ye  clothed  me/  mamma,  don't  you  know?" 

There  had  been  a  terrible  snowstorm  in  the 
night ;  streets  and  door- ways  were  blocked,  huge 
drifts  in  every  conceivable  and  fantastic  shape 
were  to  be  seen  everywhere.  Within  the  great 
house  warmth  and  happiness  abounded. 

"  Must  she  go,  auntie  ?" 

"  Will  you  have  me,  marm  ?"  asked  Maggie. 

"  You  can't  go  through  this  storm,  child." 

"  I  '11  work  for  you !     I  do  n't  eat  much !" 

The  pleading  gaze  and  beseeching  tone  were 
too  much  for  the  spinster's  composure.  Face  to 
face  with  this  bit  of  suffering,  oppressed  human- 


THE   OLD   HOME.  41 

ity,  her  whole  nature  answered  the  yearning  of 
that  homeless  heart ;  putting  her  hand  with  a 
half  caress  on  the  black  head,  she  asked, 

"  Will  you  obey  me,  child  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  it  kills  me." 

"  Will  you  call  me  auntie  as  the  others  do  ?" 
a  smile  hiding  her  emotion. 

"  Oh  yes,  ma'am.     May  I  ?" 

"Yes." 

All  laughed  for  joy  but  the  child  herself ;  she 
was  overwhelmed.  Dropping  on  the  floor  she 
hid  her  face  in  the  black  gown  of  her  new  mis- 
tress and  sobbed  uncontrollably. 

Later  in  the  day  news  flashed  through  the 
village  that  the  body  of  a  woman  had  been  found 
in  the  snow  by  the  old  shanty  that  Maggie  had  so 
long  called  home,  a  half-empty  jug  in  her  arms. 
With  a  look  of  terror  the  waif  murmured, 

"OleSal!" 

Then  Aunt  Clarissa  took  her  in  her  arms. 

"Child,  God  has  preserved  you.  We  will 
praise  him." 

From  that  moment  Maggie  loved  Aunt  Clar- 
issa with  her  whole  being ;  and  as  the  same  group 
met  year  after  year  this  child,  whose  parentage 
the  Father  alone  knew,  greeted  them  with  ever- 
increasing  grace  and  culture,  until  the  prophetic 
words,  "  She  will  prove  a  blessing  to  you,"  were 
verified. 


42  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 


CHAPTER   III. 

MISS   GRAY. 

ERIC  HAMLIN,  the  younger  by  several  years, 
had  proved  the  strength  of  his  brother's  affec- 
tion, and  was  as  much  at  home  in  his  family  as 
he  would  have  been  in  his  father's  house. 

The  elder  brother  had  prospered  in  business 
from  the  first.  Shrewd,  upright,  with  a  genial 
nature  and  a  rare  devotion  to  friends,  he  pos- 
sessed true  Christian  principles  that  manifest- 
ed themselves  in  his  daily  life,  with  his  business, 
friends,  or  at  home  in  the  midst  of  those  he  best 
loved.  He  had  urged  Eric  to  make  his  home 
with  them  until  he  could  do  better  for  himself. 
Almost  immediately  upon  leaving  college  Eric 
had  been  called  to  fill  his  present  position  as 
principal  of  the  City  High  School.  Mrs.  Hamlin 
gave  him  the  affection  of  a  sister,  making  for 
him  such  a  haven  of  rest  and  contentment  that 
he  desired  no  other.  In  return  they  found  him 
a  charming  companion,  a  wise  friend  and  bro- 
ther, whose  daily  influence  upon  the  lives  of 
their  children  was  Christlike  and  uplifting. 

The  change  of  school  and  teacher  had  proved 
beneficial  to  Clare,  as  her  uncle  had  foreseen. 


MISS   GRAY.  43 

Even  his  sister  recognized  the  benefit,  though 
she  regretted  Clare's  tastes  could  not  be  directed 
into  other  channels. 

Dot,  the  irrepressible,  was  her  own.  In  phy- 
sique and  temperament  like  her  mother,  rilling 
the  house  with  the  music  of  her  song  or  the  bab- 
bling gayety  of  her  laugh,  she  went  on  her  glad 
way  as  a  sparkling  brook  tumbles  and  dashes 
through  sunshine  and  shade  on  and  away. 

In  the  long  summer  vacations  they  were  still 
together  at  the  seashore,  among  the  hills,  or  bet- 
ter still  with  dear  Aunt  Clarissa  in  the  old  home 
at  Stanton  Falls,  not  a  dozen  miles  from  the  city. 
At  such  times  Uncle  Eric  took  a  week  from  his 
more  extended  and  rougher  trips  to  convince 
himself  that  his  especial  charge  was  improving 
her  freedom  from  the  conventional  restraints 
of  city  life,  restraints  that  with  all  his  watchful 
tact  he  sometimes  failed  to  control. 

Ah  those  days  when  all  together,  over  hill 
and  vale,  through  wooded  paths  and  along  the 
side  of  winding  brooks,  they  wandered ! 

Wonderful  secrets  he  read  to  them  from  na- 
ture's open  book,  finding  a  new  and  mysterious 
beauty  in  the  commonest  things  they  looked 
upon,  until  every  weed,  to  Clare's  awakening 
perceptions,  had  a  charm  of  its  own,  every  stone 
to  her  inquiring  mind  held  treasures,  and  every 
bird  a  varying  burst  of  music.  The  young  High 


44  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

School  principal  saw  with  pride  that  his  favor- 
ite was  growing  into  the  true  life  God  had 
meant  her  to  fill.  Everything  of  beauty  pointed 
to  a  first  Source  they  were  beginning  to  compre- 
hend, to  a  universal  Fatherhood  they  were  sure 
to  reverence,  to  a  brotherhood  in  Christ  that 
would  influence  and  control  their  lives. 

If  the  flyaway  Dot  failed  to  understand  the 
note  that  touched  her  soul  and  stirred  for  an 
instant  her  dormant  nature,  Uncle  Eric  smiled 
indulgently.  The  higher  life  would  some  time 
assert  itself,  he  was  sure,  for  God  deals  not 
alike  with  all  his  children.  As  their  needs  are 
varied,  so  must  his  teaching,  be.  A  moment  of 
wondering  interest  would  light  up  the  child's 
sweet  face,  the  soul  would  partly  reveal  itself, 
then  the  flash  would  expire,  the  pretty  butter- 
fly dart  off  for  a  sip  of  her  own  evanescent 
sweets. 

Bluebirds,  martens,  wrens  sang  not  more 
gayly  than  this  gayest  bird  of  them  all.  The 
finch,  telling  of  summer,  with  its  clear  bell-like 
note,  brought  to  the  child  all  the  depth  of  joy 
she  seemed  capable  of;  she  echoed  his  bright 
carol,  his  loud  warble,  and  trilling  notes  as  long 
as  they  were  glad,  but  before  the  air  died  away 
in  its  touching  plaintive  melody  it  was  forgotten. 

Day  after  day  they  tramped  the  woods  and 
meadow  paths  in  quest  of  treasures,  and  never 


MISS   GRAY.  45 

was  there  a  more  delightful  companion  than 
Uncle  Eric.  Only  for  a  week.  His  life  of  work 
called  for  more  rugged  sports  than  Clare  could 
endure. 

He  was  satisfied  to  see  that  she  started  out 
fairly  under  her  mother's  guidance,  with  a  little 
impetus  from  him  for  the  first  few  days.  Then 
they  separated  for  the  two  long  summer  months, 
to  meet  at  their  close  refreshed  and  ready  for 
work. 

Year  by  year  this  manner  of  life  went  on, 
until  Clare's  method  of  study  grew  into  a  pleas- 
ant and  simple  system,  developing  health  and 
vigor  of  mind  and  body. 

Uncle  Eric  gave  her  a  morning  and  evening 
hour — rare  hours  to  both.  Her  little  room  ad- 
joined his  more  spacious  study.  In  it  was  her 
case  of  books  which  he  had  selected — few  but 
choice,  suited  to  her  years ;  one  or  two  perhaps 
a  little  beyond  her  capacity,  a  bait  to  lure  her 
on.  Near  by  stood  another  case  of  specimens 
gathered  in  the  holiday  trips. 

The  desk,  her  father's  gift,  a  few  bright  pic- 
tures, a  bird  in  the  window,  a  vase  of  flowers, 
and  besides  her  own  study-chair  easy  seats  for 
mother  or  sister  when  they  called. 

It  was  evident  the  master  was  bent  on  lead- 
ing her  into  his  own  beloved  field  of  thought 
and  research,  but  her  steps  were  slow  and  careful. 


46  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

He  guarded  her  from  every  danger,  thoughtless 
indulgence,  or  imprudent  overtaxing.  Some- 
times Dot's  laughing  face  appeared  for  but  "a 
sniff  of  literary  air ;"  it  stifled  her,  she  said.  Love, 
fun,  and  song  filled  her  life  to  its  horizon,  and 
the  parents  found  their  home  no  less  delightful 
that  the  girls  differed  so  entirely. 

This  home  education  continued  until  Clare 
was  ready  at  fifteen  to  enter  the  High  School. 
She  shrank  from  this  change  to  an  unaccustomed 
life.  She  had  learned  to  love  her  freedom  to  be 
able  to  drop  pen  or  book  as  the  spirit  moved, 
passing  from  one  pleasant  employment  to  an- 
other, never  idle,  never  pressed  or  weary.  It 
had  been,  thus  far,  an  ideal  school-life.  What 
would  the  new  life  bring  to  her  with  its  crowd 
of  gay  young  people,  its  press  of  student  work, 
its  little  rivalries  and  heart-burnings  unknown 
to  her  thus  far,  its  routine,  push,  and  hurry,  all 
so  different  from  the  last  five  years?  Would 
Uncle  Eric  be  the  same  ?  Could  she  carry  with 
her  into  the  world  the  precious  principle  of 
her  daily  living — her  love  to  Christ — in  and 
through  all  the  unknown  duties  that  would  meet 
her  ?  Would  the  same  Saviour  share  the  trials 
and  difficulties  of  the  new  life,  and  give  her  the 
daily  help  that  of  late  had  been  so  needful  to  her 
growing  faith  ?  Her  heart  almost  failed  her  at 
the  thought.  Was  she  not  like  a  soldier  going 


MISS  GRAY.  47 

into  battle  for  the  first  time  ?  Must  she  go  alone  ? 
Oh  no,  her  strength  was  indeed  weakness,  and 
with  the  same  gentle  faith  that  had  met  and  con- 
quered her  fears  of  long  ago  she  turned  the  key 
of  her  door,  shutting  out  all  but  Christ,  and  with 
a  childlike  trust  knelt  and  asked  the  help  that 
never  is  denied.  From  that  moment  her  doubts 
vanished.  She  knew  in  whom  she  trusted. 

She  found  herself  placed  in  Miss  Gray's  divi, 
sion  when  the  day  came  and  the  new  school 
life  began.  Miss  Gray  was  the  new  teacher  of 
the  High  School,  and  about  her  hung  a  mystery 
that  her  co-laborers  and  pupils  failed  to  under- 
stand by  dint  of  watching  or  questioning.  Too 
reserved  to  be  a  favorite,  silent  and  undemon- 
strative as  a  statue,  slight,  graceful,  self-pos- 
sessed and  quiet,  systematic  in  fulfilling  duty, 
with  penetration  to  discern  when  her  pupils 
failed  from  lack  of  effort  or  from  want  of  power, 
and  able  to  rouse  to  new  energy  in  the  one  case, 
and  to  assist  and  encourage  in  the  other.  She 
succeeded  as  a  teacher  in  arousing  ambition  and 
commanding  respect,  yet  at  the  close  of  the  term 
she  was  as  much  a  stranger  as  at  the  beginning. 

Once  she  had  apparently  forgotten  herself. 
Unconsciously  drawn  into  an  argument  regard- 
ing discipline  of  the  younger  classes,  she  crowd- 
ed into  a  few  sentences  her  sentiments.  Her 
eyes  lighted  and  revealed  new  depths,  her  tones 


48  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

trembled  with  feeling  that  took  her  listeners  by 
surprise.  It  passed  like  a  flash ;  in  a  moment 
the  light  was  out,  the  face  still  and  beautiful  as 
ever,  emotionless  as  marble. 

Mr.  Hamlin  was  curious.  Those  few  words 
evinced  elevation  of  thought  and  wealth  of  affec- 
tion. 

"Who  is  she?"  was  asked  over  and  over. 
"  Where  did  you  find  her?" 

"We  do  not  know.  We  did  not  find  her. 
Our  former  teacher  was  suddenly  removed  by 
illness ;  the  term  had  just  begun.  We  were  in 
trouble,  desirable  teachers  all  engaged.  After 
an  advertisement  Miss  Gray  called  upon  me, 
was  questioned,  examined,  and  engaged  at  once. 
I  have  had  no  cause  to  regret  the  haste.  But  I 
do  n't  understand  her." 

"  Where  does  she  live  ?" 

"  No  one  knows." 

"Has  she  friends?" 

"  We  're  quite  in  the  dark  regarding  her 
friends.  We  only  know  her  to  be  a  first-class 
teacher.  Her  pupils  obey  her.  Even  Jack  Ellis, 
rusticated  twice  a  year  for  his  pranks,  is  a  gentle- 
man now,  at  least  in  the  schoolroom.  I  watched 
the  subduing  of  that  rebellious  spirit  from  the 
very  beginning  of  the  outbreak,  heard  her  issue 
in  clear,  low  tones  a  command,  not  to  him  alone, 
but  to  the  whole  class ;  her  gaze  never  left  his 


MISS  GRAY.  49 

face ;  mild  but  resolute,  kind  but  firm  and  un- 
yielding, she  looked  him  into  submission.  The 
blood  mounted  to  his  forehead,  his  eyes,  twin- 
kling with  mischief,  grew  serious  as  she  held  his 
gaze,  and  the  saucy  mouth  quivered  with  his  de- 
sire to  resist,  but  all  of  no  avail.  I  was  amused 
and  interested  ;  I  saw  she  was  equal  to  him  and 
needed  no  help  from  me.  Some  time  after  she 
asked  him  for  a  book.  As  he  stood  a  moment  by 
her  desk,  she  took  his  hand  in  hers  an  instant, 
looked  up  into  his  eyes,  and  said  a  few  words  in 
a  low  tone  ;  her  face  was  as  still  as  ever,  but  his 
worked  like  that  of  a  grieved  child ;  the  great 
impulsive  fellow  was  entirely  subdued." 

"  And  remains  so  ?"  asked  the  friend. 

"  To  all  appearances ;  but  I  believe  it  can't 
last.  I  have  little  faith  in  Jack.  He  is  smart  as 
steel,  will  graduate  next  year.  His  father 's  a 
valued  friend,  and  Jack  the  only  boy." 

After  this  conversation,  which  took  place  in 
the  private  room  of  the  principal,  the  school  was 
closed  for  the  short  spring  vacation. 

Miss  Gray  disappeared  and  was  not  seen 
again  until  the  opening  of  the  next  term,  when 
at  the  hour  appointed  she  was  behind  her  desk, 
white  and  statuesque  as  ever,  courteous  and  re- 
served in  her  greeting  to  the  other  teachers, 
her  dress  black  and  plain,  with  a  narrow  white 
frill  at  neck  and  wrists,  giving  a  youthful  ap- 
4 


50  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

pearance,  her  hair  braided  and  wound  on  the 
back  of  her  small,  shapely  head. 

Only  Jack  ventured  to  evince  real  pleasure 
at  seeing  her  again.  Like  the  burly,  impulsive 
fellow  he  was,  he  stamped  along  between  the 
rows  of  desks,  his  cheeks  glowing  with  health, 
his  eyes  sparkling  with  good-nature,  and  a  broad 
laugh  spreading  over  his  whole  face.  Dropping 
the  strap  of  books,  he  proceeded  quickly  to  Miss 
Gray's  desk  and  frankly  offered  her  his  hand, 
saying, 

"  I  did  n't  know  you  were  coming  back.  I  'm 
glad  you  have  ;  it 's  jolly."  Then,  blushing  like 
a  girl  at  his  freedom,  he  would  not  have  waited 
for  the  response  had  she  not  held  his  hand  and 
smiled  back  into  his  honest  face. 

It  was  a  rare  smile  she  gave  him.  It  thrilled 
him  to  the  heart,  boy  as  he  was.  It  was  like  a 
burst  of  sunshine  over  a  winter  landscape,  del- 
uging with  warmth  and  brilliancy  the  coldness 
and  gloom  before  apparent. 

Jack  beamed  all  over  his  ruddy  face  as  he 
took  his  seat,  with  a  new  ambition  to  be  worthy 
of  her  friendship  if  he  could. 

Mr.  Hamlin  noticed  the  interview ;  his  inter- 
est in  his  new  teacher  increased ;  he  thought, 
"  She  has  a  heart,  cover  it  as  she  may."  From 
this  time  his  respect  showed  itself  in  many  ways 
that  Miss  Gray  could  not  fail  to  understand. 


MISS  GRAY.  51 

oblivious  as  she  might  appear.  She  felt  that  he 
was  observing  her,  and  that  she  was  an  object  of 
suspicion  to  the  other  teachers ;  but  day  by  day 
she  carried  herself  with  the  same  straightfor- 
ward, indifferent  air,  speaking  always  in  calm, 
clear  tones,  distinctly  heard  by  all  the  class,  giv- 
ing to  each  pupil  the  same  attention,  showing 
special  favor  to  none,  unless  Jack's  morning  smile 
might  be  called  such. 

The  school  building  was  the  finest  in  the  city 
and  had  the  name  of  being  the  most  aristocrat- 
ic; whether  any  better  brain -work  was  accom- 
plished there  than  in  less  favored  localities  was 
a  mooted  question.  There  was  a  certain  air  of 
comfort,  not  to  say  style  and  elegance,  among 
the  children  that  betokened  wealth  in  the  homes 
more  generally  than  among  those  of  other 
schools ;  and  when  one  bright  morning  of  the 
first  week  of  the  term  a  new  pupil  appeared  in 
the  person  of  a  small  girl,  who  by  reason  of  her 
quick  wit  and  ready  ability  was  placed  in  Miss 
Gray's  classes,  where  she  proved  to  be  the  young- 
est, there  was  a  general  elevation  of  noses  and 
shrugging  of  shoulders,  for  Barbara  Allen  was 
poorly  clad.  Not  that  she  was  untidy  in  any 
respect  or  that  her  garments  were  not  suited  to 
the  time  of  year.  Very  neat  and  prim  she  looked 
in  her  clean,  dark,  old-fashioned  print  dress,  with 
a  home-made  sun-bonnet  of  the  same  material 


52  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

hiding  her  mass  of  brown  hair  that  clung  in 
rings  to  a  well-shaped  head,  a  little  check  shawl 
over  her  shoulders,  a  bit  of  white  muslin  basted 
in  the  neck  of  her  dress,  but  not  another  ray  of 
brightness  about  her,  unless  the  great  brown 
eyes  could  be  called  so,  as  they  danced  with  de- 
light at  this  new  experience.  Her  small  hands 
were  red  with  toil,  but  far  from  misshapen  or 
ungraceful,  as  more  than  one  scornful  maiden 
noticed  when  she  hung  her  unique  garments  be- 
side their  more  elegant  ones. 

"  Poor  child,"  thought  Miss  Gray,  "  how  hap- 
py she  looks  in  her  unconsciousness." 

And  how  the  pretty  trembling  lips  tried  to 
smile  into  the  faces  near  her,  scarcely  noticing 
there  was  no  response.  Her  heart  fluttered  with 
joy  that  she  could  again  be  in  school ;  so  much 
better,  she  thought,  than  to  study  alone,  as  she 
had  been  doing  the  past  few  years,  even  though 
her  teacher  had  been  the  dear,  patient  mother. 
Her  lip  quivered  at  the  thought  of  mother,  but 
she  put  it  bravely  away,  remembering  her  prom- 
ise on  that  last  day  to  be  happy  for  the  sake  of 
the  lonely  toiler  who  had  no  one  now  but  his 
little  girl.  She  drew  a  long  sigh  and  looked 
from  face  to  face,  seeking  friendliness,  but  find- 
ing only  disdainful  glances  that  she  did  not  com- 
prehend. 

Miss  Gray  noticed  the  hostile  attitude  of  her 


MISS  GRAY.  53 

pupils,  and  placing  Barbara  next  a  gentle-ap- 
pearing young  girl,  said, 

"  Clare,  will  you  show  this  little  stranger  the 
lessons  of  to-day  ?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Gray,"  was  the  smiling  reply, 
and  in  a  moment  the  two  young  heads  were 
bending  over  one  book,  and  the  observing  prin- 
cipal caught  again  the  radiant  smile  of  approval 
that  for  a  moment  almost  transfigured  the  young 
teacher's  face.  It  was  a  golden  .day  for  Clare 
when  she  looked  into  Miss  Gray's  clear  eyes  and 
read  there  the  record  of  a  noble  soul.  A  bond 
of  sympathetic  feeling  sprang  up  between  them, 
and  from  that  day  she  had  no  cause  to  regret 
her  uncle.  She  knew  he  was  watching  her 
progress  and  she  did  not  mean  to  fail  him. 
With  an  earnest  purpose  she  entered  upon  the 
new  life.  Her  intercourse  with  the  other  pupils 
had  been  friendly  but  not  familiar.  They  were 
not  necessary  to  her  or  she  to  them ;  but  this 
stranger,  so  unlike  them,  so  really  friendless  — 
Clare's  heart  went  out  to  her.  She  could  be  of 
use  to  her ;  she  felt  a  stirring  of  responsibility 
quite  new  to  her.  They  were  friends  at  once. 
Barbara's  gratitude  was  unbounded.  Her  sunny 
nature  gave  to  the  gloomiest  spots  a  reflex  light, 
and  she  was  ready  to  ignore  all  that  she  could 
not  understand. 


54  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MAY  FLOWERS. 

BARBARA'S  father,  a  carpenter,  was  at  this 
time  very  poor.  He  had  been  able  to  make  a 
fairly  comfortable  home  for  wife  and  daughter, 
and  whatever  luxuries  had  been  denied,  their 
lives  had  been  rich  in  love.  Barbara's  heart 
had  been  a  fountain  of  joy  from  babyhood. 
She  was  more  like  a  ray  of  sunshine  than  a 
child  of  poverty  and  toil. 

She  had  never  known  the  meaning  of  sor- 
row until  the  last  strange,  wondering  good-by 
was  said  to  the  mother  now  resting  in  the  quiet 
cemetery  at  Stanton  Falls — the  mother  whose 
years  of  weakness  had  never  dimmed  her  smiles 
or  clouded  for  a  moment  the  lives  of  the  two 
so  dear.  She  covered  her  pain  with  silence. 
Her  words  were  full  of  courage  and  her  trust 
in  the  tender  love  of  Christ  inspired  with  a 
hope  that  almost  fitted  them  for  the  parting 
sure  to  come.  How  tenderly  and  faithfully  she 
endeavored  to  prepare  Bab  to  go  on  without 
her !  How  earnestly  in  her  failing  strength  she 
pointed  them  both  to  Christ  who  could  be  their 
only  strength  in  time  of  trouble ! 


MAY   FLOWERS.  55 

Now  in  her  absence  the  words  came  back  to 
them,  soothing  their  anguish,  showing  to  their 
dim  sight  that  the  great  sorrow,  dark  indeed, 
was  but  a  shadow,  hiding  for  a  little  time  the 
light  that  could  never  be  put  out,  of  God's  great 
love  to  his  children. 

Out  of  employment  and  nearly  penniless, 
Mr.  Allen  turned  to  Barbara.  Her  sunny  nature 
cast  its  bright  rays  along  the  gloomy  way.  She 
hardly  comprehended  this  sudden  loss.  Her 
mother  had  said  it  was  God's  will  that  they 
should  dwell  apart  for  a  time,  and  with  a  child's 
obedient  spirit  she  tried  to  still  the  pain  and 
bear  the  parting.  She  looked  with  awe  upon 
her  father's  grief.  It  was  terrible  to  see  him 
weep,  and  she  crept  near  with  a  desire  to  min- 
ister to  him  as  her  mother  would  have  done. 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  bowed  head,  patted 
him  gently,  and  with  lips  that  trembled  she 
whispered, 

"Don't,  father,  please  don't.  Mother  wanted 
us  to  be  happy.  Father  dear,  do  n't." 

He  had  forgotten  her.  His  whole  frame  was 
shaking  with  suppressed  sobs. 

"  Father  dear,  you  make  me  afraid." 

The  strange,  helpless  pathos  of  her  voice 
wakened  him.  He  turned  his  haggard  gaze 
upon  the  sweet,  pale  face.  Her  eyes  had  a  look 
of  misery  he  had  never  seen  in  them  before. 


56  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

She  trembled  as  one  in  a  chill.  Her  lips 
could  hardly  frame  the  endearing  name.  "  Fa- 
ther—" 

Then  he  took  her  in  his  arms,  rested  his 
head  against  her,  and  cried, 

"  Bab,  we  are  alone !  We  shall  never  have 
her  again!  Oh,  my  Barbara!" 

"  No,  no,  father,  we  are  not  alone.  She  said 
we  should  always  have  Jesus  with  us.  We  can 
not  be  alone,  father  dear." 

He  groaned  in  spirit  and  prayed  God  for  the 
faith  of  a  little  child.  He  felt  himself  bereft 
of  a  presence  whose  courage  had  always  out- 
weighed her  endurance,  whose  faith  in  him  and 
love  for  him  had  been  the  great  impelling  influ- 
ence of  his  life. 

Morning  brought  to  Barbara  the  familiar  du- 
ties that  served  in  a  measure  to  cover  her  lone- 
liness. It  was  a  relief  to  take  them  up.  She 
glanced  with  a  strange  yearning  fondness  to- 
wards the  vacant  lounge  in  the  warm  corner, 
the  little  stand  with  the  well-thumbed  Bible 
and  books  still  there.  She  began  to  understand 
what  this  feeling  at  her  heart  meant.  True,  the 
mother  had  smiled  when  she  spoke  of  parting, 
had  said  it  was  the  Father's  will,  and  Barbara 
had  never  before  known  that  God's  will  some- 
times meant  suffering.  She  had  just  remem- 
bered her  mother  reading,  "  Whom  the  Lord 


MAY    FLOWERS.  57 

loveth  he  chasteneth,  and  see  urge  th  every  son 
whom  he  receiveth."  It  softened  the  blow  to 
remember  that  God  loved  them.  She  was  glad 
that  her  father  was  His  son,  but  it  pained  her 
that  he  must  be  scourged  so  bitterly. 

It  was  cold,  cheerless,  nearly  dark ;  he  would 
soon  come  home.  She  would  brighten  up  the 
room  for  him.  She  fluttered  busily  about  and 
soon  had  the  kettle  humming  gayly,  the  cloth 
laid,  and  the  lamp  brightly  burning  to  welcome 
him,  a  softened  smile  of  greeting  beaming  from 
her  loving  eyes.  That  evening  he  said, 

"  Barbara,  our  money  is  about  gone." 

"  But  you  can  earn  more,  father  ?" 

"  Not  here.  There  's  no  work  to  be  had. 
Nothing." 

"Then,  father,  let  us  go  where  there  is 
work." 

"  Go  where  ?  There 's  no  building  short  of 
the  city." 

He  mused  despondingly. 

"Why  can't  we  go  to  the  city.  You  are 
strong.  You  will  find  work  and  I  can  take  care 
of  you." 

He  looked  up,  dazed.  Her  voice,  so  like 
the  mother's,  thrilled  him.  Brave  little  soul! 
She  would  inspire  a  rock  with  hope.  Was  he 
indeed  casting  his  burden  upon  her  slight  shoul- 
ders? That  must  not  be.  He  was  ashamed. 


58  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

He  would  gather  himself  together,  hide  his 
grief,  and  live  and  labor  for  this  brave  child. 

In  a  few  weeks  his  modest  possessions  were 
turned  into  money,  enough  reserved  to  make 
two  rooms  comfortable.  These  were  found  in 
an  old  house  near  the  city,  out  on  the  hill,  be- 
yond the  elegant  homes  and  fine  buildings 
within  one  of  which  Barbara  was  to  take  her 
place  among  Miss  Gray's  more  cultured  pupils. 
Here  Mr.  Allen  hoped  to  find  work  as  a  builder. 
The  city  was  growing  fast  in  this  direction  and 
there  must  be  a  demand  for  experienced  work- 
ers. 

The  rooms  were  made  homelike.  Barbara 
fell  naturally  into  her  mother's  ways  that  were 
sure  to  cheer  the  home-coming  of  the  bread- 
winner. And  now  that  she  had  no  other  care 
she  must  begin  again  her  school-life.  The  Hill 
School  being  near,  she  naturally  drifted  into 
that. 

It  was  perfectly  plain  to  the  father  with  his 
republican  tendencies,  and  to  Barbara  with  her 
simple  nature.  But  the  dainty  maidens,  who 
with  cultivated  eyes  and  fastidious  tastes  took 
in  every  item  of  the  poor  girl's  belongings,  were 
not  ready  with  a  welcome,  would  not  respond 
to  her  timid,  inquiring  glances  and  shy,  yearn- 
ing smiles.  That  she  was  smart  was  of  little 
consequence.  What  earthly  right  had  such  a 


MAY   FLOWERS.  59 

beggarly-looking  girl  to  indulge  in  books  ?  The 
idea  of  her  venturing  to  reply  to  questions  that 
were  a  test  for  the  best  scholar  among  them ! 

And  there  was  Clare  Hamlin,  with  her  dainty 
ways  and  refined  tastes,  sitting  so  close  beside 
her  that  their  heads  touched.  It  was  insulting 
in  Miss  Gray  to  ask  it  and  very  weak  in  Clare 
to  comply.  Even  Miss  Gray  could  not  induce 
them  to  step  down  to  a  level  with  any  such.  The 
Hill  School  would  be  disgraced  if  they  allowed 
the  dregs  of  the  city  to  come  within  its  honored 
walls ;  and  to  walk  right  by  them  all,  as  Barbara 
soon  did,  taking  and  maintaining  a  position  at 
the  head  of  her  classes — it  roused  the  bitterest 
and  most  antagonistic  sentiments. 

"  The  idea  of  that  scallawag,  with  not  a  cent 
to  her  name,  coming  here  to  school!"  snarled 
Nellie  Miller,  whese  idea  of  money  value  was 
ability  to  buy  all  the  confection  she  craved  for 
herself  and  her  mates. 

"And  in  that  rig!  Did  you  ever  see  any- 
thing like  it?"  came  from  Edith  Atherton,  an 
only  child  of  luxury. 

"She's  fairly  threadbare  and  doesn't  know 
it.  I  move  we  call  her  attention  to  it,"  added 
another. 

"Good!  We'll  dub  her  Miss  Threadbare, 
and  teach  her  hei  place.  To  think  of  her  almost 
taking  the  words  from  your  mouth,  Clare,  and 


60  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

looking  so  innocent.  She 's  a  regular  snake  in 
the  grass.  Another  moment  you  could  have  an- 
swered— Miss  Gray  had  scarcely  looked  at  her. 
I  wonder  where  she  learned  it  all,  so  glibly  rat- 
tled off?" 

"  But  I  could  n't  answer,  girls.  Miss  Gray 
knew  it.  I  think  she 's  a  bright  little  thing, 
and  seems  so  happy.  We  must  not  1  ^t  her  be 
disturbed ;  we  must  not  forget  that  she  is  a 
stranger." 

"Stranger!  What  of  that?  She's  awful 
mean  to  disturb  us  ;  but  of  course  we  can't  asso- 
ciate with  her."  ; 

"Why  not?"  asked  Clare,  a  touch  of  indig- 
nation in  her  low  voice. 

"  Why,  Clare  Hamlin,  how  perfectly  ridic- 
ulous you  are !  Do  you  think  you  're  going  to 
transform  the  world  with  your  notions?  You 
dear  little  puritan!  Even  your  uncle  would 
not  think  of  your  hob-nobbing  with  a  ragmuffin, 
though,  as  mamma  says,  '  his  hobby  is  to  edu- 
cate the  masses.' " 

"  And  this  Miss  Nobody  is  as  low  down  as 
any." 

"  Have  you  discovered  any  depraved  tastes 
in  her  ?  Is  she  rude  or  coarse  ?"  asked  Clare. 

"We  don't  know  anything  about  her.  I 
should  think  the  sight  of  her  dress  was  enough," 
sneered  Nellie. 


MAY   FLOWERS.  6l 

"  We  are  not  obliged  to  follow  her  style  of 
dress,  though  it  is  whole  and  clean,"  responded 
the  undaunted  Clare. 

"  And  such  hands !     Red  as  beef." 

"  Not  so  white  as  ours,  to  be  sure ;"  Clare 
looked  at  her  own  slender  hands;  "but  such  a 
pretty  shape,  girls,  and  so  graceful." 

"Well,  she's  as  poor  as  Job's  cat,  anyhow, 
and  her  father  nothing  but  a  carpenter.  They 
keep  house  in  two  rooms  too;  I  heard  her  tell 
Miss  Gray  so  myself,"  blurted  the  angry  Nellie. 

"  No  harm  in  that,  Nellie,  surely.  The  dear 
Lord  was  a  carpenter,  and  had  not  where  to  lay 
his  head.  Oh,  girls,  if  we  turn  our  backs  upon 
her  it  will  seem  like  treating  Him  with  shame. 
/  cannot  do  it." 

Not  another  word  was  said.  It  was  not 
the  first  time  Clare  had  silenced  them  in  this 
way.  They  were  compelled  to  respect  her  fear- 
less Christian  character,  the  broad,  generous, 
Christlike  ground  she  maintained.  They  loved 
her  gentle  nature,  but  it  was  easier  to  follow 
'Nellie's  lead  than  to  attain  the  purer  altitude  in 
which  Clare's  spirit  lived. 

It  was  too  much  to  be  expected  to  associate 
with  a  nobody  simply  because  she  had  crowded 
herself  into  their  classes,  happening  to  be  smart 
and  pretty !  They  were  obliged  to  admit  that 
even  in  her  strange  dress,  the  rustic  manners 


62  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

and  lack  of  culture,  a  shy  grace  and  modest  love- 
liness shone  forth  that  must  be  acknowledged. 
And  this  was  no  place  for  her.  Nellie  and  Edith 
determined  to  crowd  her  out,  make  the  school 
too  uncomfortable  for  her. 

Barbara  was  unconscious  of  the  enmity  she 
had  aroused.  Having  been  so  long  her  mother's 
sole  companion,  her  only  nurse  during  the  last 
two  years  of  illness,  she  had  become  a  faithful 
student,  absorbed  in  her  duties,  whether  of  study 
or  household  affairs.  Always  a  willing  learner, 
now,  under  new  influences,  she  became  ambi- 
tious and  her  progress  was  remarkable.  Miss 
Gray  was  surprised  and  delighted.  Only  the 
envy  of  an  inferior  nature,  a  heart  empty  of 
Christlike  love,  would  have  checked  her  ardor 
by  look  or  word.  Her  teacher  felt  a  strong  in- 
terest in  her,  responding  warmly  to  the  young 
girl's  loving  advances  and  gladly  giving  her 
all  the  helps  at  her  disposal. 

This  bond  between  the  two  was  looked  upon 
with  disfavor  by  Nellie  and  her  adherents,  in- 
creasing the  ill-feeling  that  needed  no  added 
wind  to  fan  the  flames. 

Every  morning  a  bunch  of  wild-flowers  was 
laid  upon  Miss  Gray's  desk.  Among  the  many 
rare  blossoms  from  the  homes  of  affluence  that 
daily  found  their  way  to  the  lonely  teacher's 
acceptance,  Barbara's  modest  offering  held  the 


MAY   FLOWERS.  63 

place  of  honor.  About  the  middle  of  the  month 
she  came  with  cheeks  fresh  as  a  wild  rose,  her 
calico  sun-bonnet  flung  back,  and  her  hands  full 
of  the  first  arbutus  of  the  season. 

Clare  flew  towards  her.  "  Oh,  Barbara !  Trail- 
ing arbutus !  How  lovely !  Where  did  you  find 
it?" 

"  In  the  woods  over  the  hill,  way  beyond  my 
home.  Have  some  ?"  Like  the  spirit  of  spring 
she  separated  the  clusters,  offering  each  girl  a 
liberal  bunch  of  the  dainty  things. 

Nellie,  with  a  shrug,  refused  them.  "  I  do  n't 
care  for  your  flowers ;  I  '11  get  them  myself." 

"You  can  go  nearly  there  in  the  horse-car; 
it's  a  lovely  place,"  said  Barbara,  sweetly  uncon- 
scious of  the  rebuff. 

•"Girls,  I'm  going  for  wild -flowers  after 
school.  Who  will  go?"  Nellie  asked  pointedly. 

A  chorus  of  voices  agreed,  and  Barbara  said, 
"  I  '11  show  you  where  they  are.  I .  found  the 
rhodora  just  in  the  edge  of  the  swamp  and  the 
spring-beauty  and  hepatica  and  this  dear  little 
wind-flower  in  the  woods.  Mother  used  to  call 
it  wood,-anemone.  I  can  take  you  right  to  the 
spot." 

"  Do  hear  her !  One  would  think  she  had 
lived  in  the  city  all  her  life  and  knew  every- 
thing, and  we,  are  the  ignoramuses,  it  seems," 
sneered  Nellie. 


64  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  Nellie !     How  can  you  ?"  exclaimed  Clare. 

"  I  do  n't  care !  She  '11  be  poking  herself  in 
our  way  all  the  time  if  some  one  does  n't  speak. 
My  mother  snubs  such  people  ;  she  says  there  's 
no  other  way." 

Barbara's  cheeks  glowed,  her  brown  eyes 
filled.  Clare  caught  her  hand  as  she  turned  to 
go  from  them. 

"Don't  go,  Barbara.  She  didn't  mean  it. 
/  want  you ;  come  with  me.  I  '11  ask  Miss  Gray 
to  go  with  us." 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  me,  Clare  ?" 

"  Nothing  at  all.  Nellie 's  cross  and  you 
must  n't  mind  her.  I  want  to  go  to  the  place  you 
spoke  of.  Let 's  take  some  of  the  flowers  to 
Miss  Gray — she  Joves  them  so — and  ask  her  to 
go  with  us." 

"  Yes,  she  loves  them  ;  her  smile  is  like  the 
waking  up  of  the  spring." 

"  Barbara,  I  believe  you  are  a  poet." 

"Am  I?  I  don't  know.  I  love  to  jingle, 
don't  you?" 

Clare  laughed.  "  I  wish  I  could.  Mine  is  the 
plainest  kind  of  prose.  There 's  little  music  in 
my  composition.  Uncle  Eric  could  tell  you 
that." 

Miss  Gray's  eyes  grew  tender  and  loving  as 
they  rested  on  the  girls  so  eager  to  give  her  the 
bunch  of  May  blossoms. 


MAY   FLOWERS.  65 

"And  this  ?"  touching  a  bit  of  paper  wound 
smoothly  round  the  stems  with  her  name  on  it. 
"  Is  this  for  me?" 

"  Just  a  jingle,  dear  Miss  Gray,  for  you." 
What  a  glad  smile  broke  over  the  gloom  of 
her  fine  face !  As  the  girls  locked  arms  and 
turned  away  she  read  the  simple  lines  with  a 
quiet  surprise,  for  she  had  associated  with  this 
girl  the  capacity  only  for  absolute  toil,  either 
with  head  or  hands.  She  had  not  thought  there 
had  been  time  for  sentiment  in  her  life  of  labor, 
or  for  dreams. 

A  perfume  beckoned  in  the  wood  ; 

I  followed  where  it  led, 
And  there  a  dainty  May- bud  stood, 

Pure  white,  just  touched  with  red. 
I  thought  it  blushed  to  have  me  look 

Into  its  lovely  face, 
Turning,  I  left  the  fragrant  spot 

And  sought  another  place ; 
And  there  the  same  sweet  clusters  grew, 

Rich  perfume  shedding  round, 
,  -     I  stooped  and  picked  a  bunch  for  you 

Half  hidden  on  the  ground. 

Miss  Gray  caught  Barbara's  shy,  happy  look 
as  she  finished  the  reading,  and  gave  her  a  nod 
of  sympathetic  approval. 

The  child's  bright  nature  was  quickly  ap- 
peased ;  petty  shafts  of  hate  or  envy  rebounded, 
injuring  those  who  aimed  them  more  than  their 
object. 

Wtitt  Olrlf  C*n  Do.  ^ 


66  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

Many  of  the  class  followed  Nellie  that  after- 
noon in.  search  of  flowers.  They  had  no  idea 
where  to  direct  their  steps  after  leaving  the  car. 

Miss  Gray  hesitated.  "  Will  it  take  long  ?  I 
must  be  at  home  by  dusk." 

"  I  could  direct  you  from  the  cars,  Miss 
Gray,"  said  Barbara.  "  It  would  be  quicker,  but 
I  always  walk." 

Clare  insisted  upon  the  ride.  Jack,  hanging 
about,  caught  enough  to  be  eager  to  join  them ; 
he  saw  at  a  glance  that  Barbara  had  not  a 
penny. 

"  Let  me  go.    I  '11  foot  the  bill."  , 

He  had  seen  the  cold  looks  of  Nellie  and  her 
friends  and  was  ready  in  his  impulsive  spirit  to 
do  battle  for  the  weak  ;  only,  as  he  said,  she  was 
able  to  hold  her  own  as  soon  as  her  eyes  were 
opened  to  their  meaning.  Barbara  indulged  no 
malice  and  could  not  accuse  others. 

The  four,  so  unlike,  yet  bent  on  the  same 
quest,  took  a  car  and  went  to  the  terminus  of 
the  line,  when  Jack  gave  up  the  lead. 

"Now,  Miss  Barbara,  you  know  the  way. 
Show  us  your  treasures." 

"  Do  you  see  those  woods  and  the  hill  on  the 
side  ?"  she  asked  brightly. 

"So  far?  It  looks  low  and  damp  this  side 
the  hill." 

"  No,  Miss  Gray,  it  is  not  very  damp ;  we  can 


MAY   FLOWERS.  6j 

step  on  dry  places  all  the  way.  The  flowers  are 
all  there  waiting  for  us." 

They  sped  along,  Barbara  in  her  quaint 
attire  leading  the  way.  Jack  bounded  from 
point  to  point,  his  quick  eye  searching  for  the 
first  blossom.  With  a  whoop  of  delight  he 
turned  back.  "  Here  they  are,  Miss  Gray,  per- 
fect beauties.  What  are  they  ?"  he  asked. 

"  We  call  them  thalictrum ;  see  how  white 
and  star-like  they  are,"  as  she  took  them  from 
from  him  and  bent  over  them. 

"Mother  called  it  the  rue-anemone,"  said 
Barbara,  looking  lovingly  upon  them. 

"Yes.  Did  your  mother  teach  you,  Bar- 
bara?" 

"  Everything  but  my  arithmetic,  then  I  re- 
cited to  father  ;  but  mother  knew  all  about  flow- 
ers. We  loved  them  so." 

"  See  this  nodding  little  thing,  Clare  ?"  Jack 
was  filling  his  cap  with  roots  and  all. 

"  It  is  the  wood-anemone,  cousin  to  all  the 
outtercups,  the  virgin's -bower,  pasque-flower, 
and  columbine,"  said  Miss  Gray. 

"  Here  is  the  first  arbutus,  and  yonder  by  the 
wood  are  clumps  of  them  just  pushing  through 
last  year's  leaves !"  cried  Barbara. 

"  We  must  get  all  we  can,"  shouted  Jack. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  responded  Miss  Gray,  the  look 
of  care  entirely  gone  from  her  face. 


68  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  Barbara,  you  have  opened  to  us  a  de- 
lightful nook  in  nature's  garden ;  let  us  fill 
the  lunch -baskets  and  go  back;  the  sun  is 
low." 

Jack  tore  around  like  a  wild  thing,  crowding 
the  great  bunches  he  gathered  into  any  basket 
he  happened  to  be  near.  The  observant  Clare 
whispered  to  him  not  to  keep  Miss  Gray 
waiting. 

"  Why  not  ?"  he  asked  with  his  usual  do  n't- 
care  spirit. 

"  She  has  some  reason  for  wanting  to  be  at 
home.  She  is  anxious." 

"  Then  let 's  make  a  bee-line  for  the  cars ; 
the  sun  will  be  down  in  half  an  hour.  Ready, 
Miss  Gray?" 

"  Thank  you,  Jack." 

"Clare's  the  one.  /  never  think."  She 
smiled  on  them  both  and  called  Barbara,  who 
crouched  on  the  ground  at  a  distance,  her  apron 
full  of  every  blossom  within  reach ;  everything 
she  could  lay  her  eager  hands  on  was  dear  to  this 
child  of  nature.  As  tney  drew  near  the  wait- 
ing car  they  found  it  nearly  full  of  the  other 
party.  A  few  young,  tender  shoots  were  all 
they  could  show,  and  exclamations  greeted  the 
four  as  they  entered  the  car  with  their  abundant 
trophies. 

"We  did  not   go   to  the  right   spot,"  said 


MAY   FLOWERS.  69 

Nellie,  somewhat  chagrined,  for  she  had  counted 
on  a  supply  for  her  evening  adornment. 

"  I  should  think  not.  I  would  give  your 
ladyship  these  were  they  not  for  the  loveliest 
friend  in  the  city." 

"  Pooh !  Your  mother  wont  care  for  them." 
Nellie  threw  Jack  a  bewildering  glance,  and 
looked  longingly  at  his  bunch  of  arbutus  with  a 
cluster  of  wood-anemone  nodding  gracefully  all 
over  them. 

"Will  you  take  some  of  mine,'Miss  Nellie?" 
'  Barbara's  voice  was  almost  beseeching,  as 
she  timidly  held  both  full  hands  towards  the  lit- 
tle autocrat.  Perhaps  the  manner,  which  was 
grace  itself,  won  her,  or  her  selfish  desire  for 
the  flowers ;  be  that  as  it  may,  she  graciously 
helped  herself.  Barbara  beamed  brightly,  and 
before  she  left  them  had  scattered  her  blossoms 
right  and  left,  the  only  one  to  go  home  with 
empty  hands. 

"  She 's  a  treasure !"  said  Miss  Gray,  follow- 
ing her  with  approving  glances  as  she  ran  into 
the  old  gray  house. 

"  She 's  royal !"  exclaimed  Jack,  "a  princess 
in  disguise." 

"A  very  shabby  princess,"  sneered  Nellie. 

"  The  poor  frock  may  be  all  the  covering  our 
little  friend  has.  She  is  noble  to  wear  it  so 
bravely ;  it  cannot  hide  true  merit,  Nellie," 


70  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  No,  Miss  Gray,"  interrupted  Jack,  who  was 
helping  Clare  arrange  her  flowers.  "  Her  funny 
clothes  hardly  seem  to  belong  to  her,  she  rises 
so  much  above  her  station.  We  can't  any  of  us 
hold  a  candle  to  her.  Don't  you  think_so, 
Nell?" 

"  Let 's  change  the  subject.  I  do  n't  care  to 
think  of  her,"  with  a  toss  of  the  proud  head. 

"  Only  of  the  flowers  you  robbed  her  of," 
muttered  Jack,  and  Nellie  had  the  grace  to 
blush  painfully. 

Nellie  Miller  and  Edith  Atherton  had  hoped 
to  monopolize  the  society  of  Prof.  Hamlin's 
niece,  and  were  chagrined  and  angry  at  their 
failure  and  at  her  evident  content  in  the  com- 
pany of  this  strange  waif. 

They  saw  their  ill-humor  had  got  the  better 
of  wisdom,  and  more  bitter  than  all,  Jack  Ellis, 
their  gay  comrade  and  fun-loving  follower,  had 
gone  over  to  the  enemy — Jack,  who  had  shared 
their  sweets,  who  had  given  them  many  a 
gay  ride  in  his  neat  little  turnout — Jack  had 
turned  his  back  on  them,  and  was  actually 
studying  botany  with  Clare  and  "  Miss  Thread- 
bare." 

But  Nellie  would  not  retreat;  she  had  de- 
clared war  against  this  stranger,  and  war  it 
should  be.  Such  poverty  meant  disgrace.  It 
could  not  be  admitted  within  the  charmed  circle 


MAY   FLOWERS.  Jl 

where  Nellie  held  sway.  The  orphanhood  of 
this  stranger  was  nothing  to  her ;  she  would  fol- 
low the  teachings  of  her  mother  and  snub  such 
people.  Clare  and  Jack  would  soon  come  round 
when  they  found  how  little  they  gained  by  such 
outlandish  ideas  of  duty. 

No  mirror  reflects  the  mother  more  truth- 
fully than  does  her  child,  and  the  defects  of 
the  one  are  often  exaggerated  deformities  in  the 
other.  Every  opportunity  to  wound  a  sensitive 
nature  was  embraced  by  the  proud  girls,  until  a 
sharp  rebuke  from  Miss  Gray  called  an  angry 
flush  to  the  face  and  an  impertinent  toss  of  the 
head  in  reply.  Their  jealousy  increased  as  they 
watched  Barbara's  elastic  step  and  healthful 
presence  every  morning,  her  hands  full  of  the 
flowers  she  knew  her  teacher  had  learned  to  ex- 
pect— the  frail,  wild  blossoms  she  could  have  for 
the  picking.  Narcissus  and  jonquils,  clusters  of 
heliotrope  or  mignonette,  great  clusters  of  roses 
from  the  conservatories  of  wealth,  often  over- 
shadowed Barbara's  modest  offering;  but  Miss 
Gray's  rare  smile  more  than  repaid  the  loving 
child  for  the  early  hour  she  snatched  from  sleep 
to  gather  them. 

Clare  and  her  uncle  had  many  a  quiet  talk 
as  they  took  their  daily  walk  after  school.  Nat- 
urally the  new  scholar  formed  one  pleasing 
topic.  "She  is  so  quick  and  ready,"  Clare 


72  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

said,  "  and  has  learned  so  much  more  by  study- 
ing at  home  with  her  mother,  who,  poor  as  she 
was,  must  have  been  an  educated  woman." 

Then  the  antagonism  between  Nellie  and 
her  party  came  up.  Clare  asked  the  wisest  way 
to  smooth  the  difference,  and  at  the  same  time 
spare  Barbara's  wounded  feelings.  Her  uncle 
was  a  wise  friend,  interested  in  all  that  con- 
cerned his  charge,  and  immediately  began  to 
turn  over  in  his  mind  some  way  to  establish 
peace. 

"  Well,  my  little  girl,  we  must  make  a  flank 
movement  somehow  and  bring  the  enemy  to 
terms.  We  can't  allow  Miss  Nellie  to  squeeze 
any  of  the  honey  from  Barbara's  life.  She  has 
too  little  to  lose  a  drop." 

"  I  think  so,  Uncle  Eric ;  but  I  can  only  be 
kind  to  her,  and  it  makes  Nellie  angry  and 
doesn't  help  matters  a  bit." 

"  No  kindness  is  lost,  girlie.  Why  not  bring 
her  home  with  you  some  day  ?  Perhaps  you  can 
do  something  for  her  without  harm  to  her  self- 
respect  ;  and  if  your  mates  can  get  into  the  spirit 
of  it,  it  will  benefit  them  also,  and  Barbara  may 
never  know  the  reason  why.  See  ?  Set  the  ball 
a-going.  I  can  trust  you." 

Clare  smiled  up  into  the  kind  face ;  but  she 
had  not  quite  freed  her  mind,  and  she  never 
concealed  anything  from  him. 


MAY  FLOWERS.  73 

"  Her  dress  is  so  queer,  uncle,  and  she  does  n't 
seem  to  know  it." 

"  Then  it  would  be  cruel  to  tell  her.  She  has 
a  quaint,  picture-like,  old-fashioned  look  to  me. 
I  hardly  knew  what  caused  it." 

"  It 's  the  dress,  uncle  ;  but  surely  she  is  not 
the  worse  for  that." 

"  No.  Let  her  feel  that  she  is  giving  the 
class  an  impulse  in  their  lessons ;  and  help  them 
to  return  the  favor  by  giving  her  a  knowledge 
of  taste  in  dress — the  best  taste,  I  mean,  for  the 
child  of  a  poor  man.  See  ?" 

"Yes,  uncle.  I  believe  we  can  do  it — help 
each  other.  Her  gifts  will  be  the  best  though." 

"As  much  the  best  as  mind  is  more  than 
clothing.  I  've  no  doubt  you  will  solve  the 
problem.  Now  let 's  turn  back  or  we  shall  lose 
our  hot  dinner." 

Clare  was  full  of  hope  and  enthusiasm.  If 
she  could  in  any  way  infuse  into  Nellie's  ig- 
noble spirit  a  real  magnanimity,  would  it  not 
be  worth  as  much  to  the  school  as  her  success 
in  making  Barbara  happy  ?  She  had  longed  for 
a  mission — something  to  do  for  the  Master  she 
had  learned  to  love.  Perhaps  he  had  given  her 
this.  If  so,  he  would  help  her  to  accomplish  it. 
She  hoped  so,  and  thought  so  intently  upon  it 
that  Dot  begged  to  know  what  Uncle  Eric  had 
been  talking  about. 


74  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

Thus  it  happened  a  few  days  later  that  Bar- 
bara went  from  school  with  Clare  and  Jack,  in- 
stead of  taking  her  solitary  way  towards  home 
as  usual. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  anything  like  that,  girls  ? 
The  little  beggar !  I  think  Clare  Hamlin  must 
have  low  tastes,  to  be  taken  in  so  easily." 

"And  Jack  too,  Nell,"  answered  Edith. 

"  Oh  boys  have  no  idea  of  what  is  proper ; 
they  all  run  after  a  new  face,"  said  Nellie  with 
disdain. 

"  Well,  we  must  allow  she  is  as  pretty  as  her 
wild-flowers,"  added  another. 

"  Not  my  style  at  all.  Clare  only  did  that  to 
provoke  me.  Mamma 's  going  to  let  me  have  a 
lawn-party  next  week.  I  've  a  mind  to  leave 
her  out,  and  Jack  too." 

"  Oh  don't,  Nell.  Clare  is  a  sweet  girl  and 
only  means  to  do  right ;  perhaps  we  have  been 
a  little  hard." 

"Not  a  bit.  Mamma  says  we  subject  our- 
selves to  all  sorts  of  annoyances  if  we  allow 
any  intimacies  with  people  who  are  low  down  ; 
and  what  could  be  lower,  I  'd  like  to  know?" 

"  Ignorance,  intolerance,  crime,"  said  a  low 
voice  behind  them. 

They  turned  towards  Miss  Gray  and  Nellie 
flushed  painfully. 

"  My  dear  girl,  when  will  you  learn  that  it  is 


MAY   FLOWERS.  75 

the  heart  the  Master  looks  upon  ?  and  no  amount 
of  money,  no  lofty  position,  no  culture,  can  alone 
make  it  fit  for  his  acceptance.  Do  not  forget 
his  words,  '  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  to  one 
of  the  least  of  these,  ye  have  done  it  to  Me/  I 
am  sure  there  is  a  voice  in  each  of  your  hearts 
that,  if  you  listen  to  it,  will  drive  out  the  un- 
worthy." 

And  smiling  kindly  into  their  faces  she  left 
them. 


76  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 


CHAPTER   V. 
BARBARA'S  VISIT. 

IT  was  a  charming  home  that  Clare  took 
Barbara  into,  spacious,  elegant,  and  harmonious. 
Barbara's  brown  eyes  were  round  with  wonder 
and  delight.  She  could  not  absorb  it  immedi- 
ately. She  had  never  seen  such  a  home. 

Clare  led  her  through  the  great  square  hall, 
with  its  open  doors  everywhere,  the  partly 
drawn  hangings  revealing  visions  of  untold 
beauties  —  the  fireplace  and  polished  chimney 
ornaments,  a  few  rare  old  pictures,  the  floor 
covered  with  thick,  soft  rugs,  that  surprised  her 
as  her  feet  sank  into  them.  Up  the  broad  stair- 
case, with  here  and  there  a  stream  of  colored 
light  pouring  through  the  panes  of  stained  glass 
and  blending  with  the  softer  tints  of  the  carpet  at 
her  feet,  she  followed  into  Clare's  own  little  room. 

Oh  the  pleasantness  of  it  to  this  child  of  pov- 
erty !  the  refined  air  that  pervaded  it,  that 
seemed  to  speak  to  a  part  of  her  nature  just 
waking  into  life ;  the  warmth  and  glow  of  its 
furnishings;  the  books,  with  silken  hangings 
partly  drawn  from  before  them  ;  the  flower-vases 
full  of  fragrant  beauty  ;  the  bird's  burst  of  wel- 


BARBARA'S  VISIT.  77 

coining  song  ;  the  willow  work-stand  and  basket, 
with  its  bit  of  fine  muslin  half  fashioned  into 
something  for  Clare  to  use ;  the  desk  for  writing 
with  all  its  useful  belongings,  as  unknown  to 
Barbara  as  the  wealth  of  the  mines.  She  was 
speechless.  Her  admiring  gaze  could  not  absorb 
it  all. 

"Here  we  are,  Barbara  dear.  This  is  my 
own  little  nook.  Take  off  your  things  and  we  11 
find  mamma  and  Dot." 

"O  Clare!"  exclaimed  Barbara. 

"What  is  it,  Bab?" 

"  It  is  all  so  lovely !"  gasped  the  young  girl. 

"  It 's  homelike  to  me ;  I  'm  happy  here  of 
course,"  mused  the  gentle  Clare.  Then  smooth- 
ing Barbara's  red-brown  rings  that  curled  over 
the  broad,  low  brow,  she  added, 

"  Come.    They  will  be  looking  for  us." 

Fearless,  in  her  innocence,  her  total  igno- 
rance of  what  might  be  expected  from  her  in 
these  unwonted  surroundings,  she  followed  Clare 
and  was  quietly  introduced  to  the  mother.  Mrs. 
Hamlin  kissed  the  fresh  young  face  that  looked 
into  hers  with  the  trust  of  a  child,  saying, 

"  So  my  Clare  has  a  new  friend.  What  shall 
we  do  to  make  the  hour  a  pleasant  one  to  you 
both?" 

"  I  think,  mamma,  Barbara  would  like  first  to 
hear  Dot  play." 


78  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

"  I  am  sure  she  would.    Where  is  she  ?" 

"  Here  I  am.  Just  wait  a  bit ;  I  was  nearly 
starved.  Rachel  gave  me  a  whole  dish  of  warm 
wafers,  so  I  brought  them  along  for  the  girls  to 
help  me.  They  may  give  me  strength  to  per- 
form," with  a  comical  grimace  of  exhaustion. 

"  Frail  little  mortal !  The  day's  work  has 
been  too  much  for  you."  It  was  Uncle  Eric's 
voice. 

"  Barbara,  we  are  glad  to  have  you  with  us," 
he  added.  Her  heart  thrilled  tumultuously. 

She  knew  this  serious -looking  man  of  wis- 
dom, the  master,  was  Clare's  uncle,  but  had  not 
thought  to  meet  him  here  in  this  familiar  way. 
Her  timid  look  of  gratitude  was  response  enough. 
He  saw  she  was  overwhelmed  with  a  new  expe- 
rience. He  watched  her.  He  saw  the  pure, 
unselfish  enjoyment.  Nothing  escaped  her. 
Dot,  sparkling,  graceful,  and  buoyant,  called 
Barbara's  whole  generous  soul  into  her  face,  a 
transparent  face,  reflecting  every  emotion.  She 
watched  the  mother  moving  from  room  to  room. 
She  glanced  through  the  half -drawn  portiere 
into  the  library,  marvellously  full  of  books,  she 
thought ;  and  saw  the  master  with  his  evening 
paper,  sitting  where  he  could  command  a  view 
of  the  music  room  and  listen,  if  he  chose,  to 
Dot's  measured  accompaniment  to  his  reading. 
Then  her  eyes  rested  on  Clare's  gentle  face, 


BARBARA'S  VISIT.  79 

plainer  than  her  sister's,  but  very  sweet  to  lov- 
ing eyes. 

At  last,  as  she  finished  her  survey  of  the 
rooms  leading  from  the  hall,  she  became  ab- 
sorbed in  Dot's  performance;  she  gazed  in 
amazement  on  the  flying  fingers,  so  like  two 
pure  white,  fluttering  birds.  She  must  have 
seen  hands  move  over  a  key-board  before,  Mr. 
Hamlin  thought. 

He  furtively  glanced  over  his  paper.  He  was 
in  the  habit  of  studying  human  nature  and  this 
was  a  unique  subject.  She  drew  a  little  nearer 
the  instrument,  her  eager  head  bent  forward, 
one  tiny  foot  in  a  coarse,  thick  shoe  advanced ; 
her  attitude,  graceful  as  her  own  little  anemone 
bending  and  swaying  on  its  stalk,  called  a  smile 
to  his  face.  He  caught  his  sister's  eye  and 
pointed  to  the  picture. 

Barbara,  every  faculty  engrossed  in  the  sight 
of  Dot's  swift  fingers,  lifting  her  little  red  hands 
seemed  to  study  them  anxiously  a  moment,  un- 
consciously moving  them  as  though  playing; 
then  dropping  them,  with  a  soft  sigh  and  hope- 
less air,  she  gazed  with  all  her  soul  in  her  face 
upon  the  player. 

Clare  had  seen  the  pathetic  struggle ;  she  un- 
derstood it.  A  flush  of  sympathy  went  through 
her.  Had  she  not,  in  the  past,  many  times  com- 
pared herself  with  Dot  ?  Her  arm  crept  round 


80  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

Barbara,  and  the  child's  eyes  full  of  tears  looked 
into  hers. 

Mrs.  Hamlin  turned  to  her  brother  with  emo- 
tion. 

"  Eric,  she  is  charming.     Poor  child  !" 

"  A  rare  gem.  We  must  help  Clare  to  pol- 
ish it." 

Then  and  there  Mrs.  Hamlin  determined  to 
help  this  motherless  girl  to  fill  the  niche  God 
must  have  intended  her  for,  wherever  it  might 
be,  and  whatever  obstacles  must  be  surmounted 
to  accomplish  it. 

They  soon  drew  her  willing  feet  into  the 
conservatory.  Here  she  was  more  at  home ; 
flowers  were  not  strangers.  These  to  be  sure 
were  unlike  the  children  of  the  wood,  field,  and 
swamp  she  knew  so  well.  Still  there  was  here 
and  there  a  family  likeness  that  gave  her  a 
home  feeling  among  them. 

After  the  flowers  the  three  scampered  to  the 
top  of  the  house,  where  a  large  room  finished  in 
ash,  with  many  windows  throwing  light  into 
every  corner,  and  furnished  with  every  appli- 
ance for  exercise  or  amusement,  was  their  play- 
ground when  the  weather  forbade  out-of-door 
recreation.  A  half-hour  here  of  fun  as  varied 
as  Dot  could  make  it  prepared  them  for  the  din- 
ner. 

"  Papa,  this  is  Barbara,"  said  Clare,  leading 


BARBARA'S  VISIT.  81 

her  to  him  before  seating  themselves  in  the  di- 
ning-room. 

"  Barbara  is  welcome,"  he  responded  heartily. 

She  bowed  in  a  pretty,  timid  way,  and  sat 
beside  Mrs.  Hamlin,  with  Clare  on  her  right  and 
Dot  opposite. 

Everything  was  strange  and  wonderful  to 
her.  What  she  was  eating  Barbara  hardly 
knew.  The  ripple  of  conversation,  the  jest,  the 
lively  repartee,  the  happy  laugh  that  followed 
Dot's  nonsense,  the  mother's  kind  solicitude,  the 
conversation  of  the  brothers,  the  quiet  attentions 
of  the  waiter,  the  strange  dishes,  the  silver,  the 
sparkling  crystal,  the  whole  luxurious  abundance, 
met  Barbara's  imaginative  nature  as  the  thou- 
sand tales  had  done  which  long  ago,  at  her  mo- 
ther 's  side,  she  had  been  allowed  to  taste  as  a 
relish  and  impulse  to  the  real  study  of  life. 

It  was  her  first  red-letter  day,  and  when  after 
dinner,  as  the  elders  were  sipping  their  coffee, 
Dot  filled  a  bon-bon  box  with  nuts,  candied 
fruits,  and  confection,  and  slipped  it  into  the 
pocket  of  the  brown  calico  dress,  she  bubbled 
over,  saying  in  a  low  voice  to  Clare, 

"  For  papa." 

A  nod  from  Clare,  and  Mrs.  Hamlin  asked, 

"  Does  your  father  find  work  plenty,  Bar- 
bara?" 

"  Oh  yes.     He  is  busy  every  day." 

Wli»t  OirlB  c»n  Do.  6 


82  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  The  great  block  on  A  Street,  is  n't  it  ?"  asked 
the  observing  professor. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Mamma,  we  are  both  going  to  walk  part 
way  with  Barbara,  and  Jack  is  to  call  and  go 
with  us.  May  we  be  excused  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear ;  and,  Barbara,  you  will  come 
again?  We  shall  always  be  glad  to  see  you," 
drawing  her  kindly  to  her  side. 

In  the  confusion  following  Mrs.  Hamlin  only 
heard  the  whispered  thanks  and  saw  the  look  of 
sweet  response  that  lit  up  the  young  face.  This 
was  her  every-day  life,  had  been  the  same  for 
years.  The  daughters  of  the  house  had  known 
no  other  life,  could  comprehend  no  other.  They 
could  not  understand  that  it  was  as  a  glimpse  of 
paradise  to  Barbara  ;  that  it  would  go  with  her 
as  the  memory  of  a  grand  picture  and  shed  a 
radiance  upon  her  shabby  room  and  common 
toil  that  would  sweeten  life  for  many  a  day. 

After  this  Barbara  not  only  spent  an  hour  or 
two  with  her  new  friends  occasionally,  but  the 
outlandish  look  of  her  dress  began  to  disappear ; 
gradually  changes  were  made,  so  gradual  that 
the  child  herself  scarcely  noticed  them.  Indeed 
it  was  one  of  her  characteristics  to  forget  herself 
almost  entirely  in  her  many  duties  and  varied 
employments ;  for  although  the  simplest  child 
in  mere  worldly  matters  of  life  outside  her  own 


BARBARA'S  VISIT.  83 

little  sphere,  at  home  she  was  the  moving 
power,  the  home-maker,  the  thorough  little 
housekeeper,  employing  every  moment  for  her 
father's  comfort  and  her  own  advancement  in 
knowledge. 

There  had  been  no  remarks  in  her  presence 
about  her  dress,  not  a  word  or  glance  that  could 
wound  her  or  enlighten  her  regarding  her  style 
of  costume.  Whatever  help  she  received  must 
be  delicately  rendered.  The  child  must  never 
feel  that  such  accessories  had  anything  to  do 
with  friendship.  Thus  one  Saturday  afternoon 
as  the  three  were  planning  in  Clare's  room  a 
little  excursion  for  the  coming  week,  Mrs.  Ham- 
lin  appeared  on  the  threshold  followed  by  her 
maid,  with  three  new  hats  and  a  great  box  of 
trimmings. 

"  Now,  my  '  three  little  maids  from  school,'  I 
saw  these  pretty  hats  and  thought  you  'd  like  to 
trim  them  up  to  suit  yourselves  for  the  autumn. 
Clare  knows  how  to  do  such  things  very  nicely, 
and  I  am  sure  Barbara  has  deft  fingers.  Do 
them  just  as  you  like.  And,  dear,  this  brown 
one  suits  you  exactly.  You  will  let  me  treat 
you  as  I  do  my  own  two ;  so  trim  it  and  wear  it 
home." 

"  You  are  so  good  to  me,  Mrs.  Hamlin." 

This  was  the  opening  wedge.  There  was 
nothing  about  it  that  could  offend  the  most  in- 


84  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

dependent  father  or  sensitive  maiden.  One 
after  another,  slight  and  becoming  changes  were 
observed  in  Barbara's  humble  attire.  As  the 
fall  advanced  a  woollen  check  replaced  the  thin 
print  frock ;  a  close-fitting  little  jacket,  made  by 
the  child  herself  under  the  eye  of  her  new 
friend,  appeared  as  the  mornings  grew  cool — so 
modest  and  unassuming  that  the  captious  Nellie 
could  find  no  occasion  for  remark. 

Mrs.  Hamlin  would  gladly  have  fitted  her  out 
with  the  same  her  own  girls  had,  but  wisely 
judged  that  to  teach  her  to  be  self-reliant,  and 
allow  her  to  feel  that  she  was  herself  doing  the 
work,  was  the  true  charity.  For  does  not  real 
charity  envelop  itself  in  gracious  apparel  and 
seem  to  ask  the  favor  of  bestowing  ? 

The  next  day  Clare  was  the  centre  of  a 
group  of  girls,  upon  which  Nellie,  Edith,  and 
their  followers  turned  their  backs,  but  not  with- 
out  a  suspicion  that  they  were  depriving  them- 
selves of  something  more  valuable  than  sweets. 

"  Girls,"  said  Clare,  "  I  have  a  plan  to  place 
before  you.  I  want  your  help." 

"  Good !  Speak  out.  We  are  all  ready  ;  we 
are  competent  to  help  you  into  or  out  of  any 
scrape  you  have  in  mind." 

"  Only  this,  Ettie ;  I  have  thought  lately  a 
good  deal  of  Barbara — " 

"That's  evident  to  the  dullest  of  us.     But 


BARBARA'S  VISIT.  8$ 

go  on,  saint  Clare ;  free  your  mind ;  we  are  not 
envious  of  the  poor  thing." 

"  Do  stop,  Ettie.     Give  Clare  a  chance." 

"  You  know,  girls,  how  very,  very  hard  it  is 
for  her  to  get  on  comfortably,  so  busy  every 
morning  at  home,  getting  so  little  time  for  study 
that  she  has  not  a  moment  for  enjoyment.  She 
does  everything  for  her  father,  and  she 's  just  as 
pretty  and  sweet  as  any  of  us,  and  a  good  deal 
smarter.  She  misses  her  mother  too,  can't 
speak  of  her.  Think,  if  it  was  any  of  us,  girls ! 
We  ought  to  make  her  happy.  Do  n't  you  think 
so?" 

"Of  course  we  ought.  I  am  desperately 
ashamed  of  being  so  mean.  I  've  nagged  her 
fearfully.  She  must  hate  the  sight  of  me." 

"She  is  incapable  of  it.  But  you  are  not 
alone,  Belle." 

"  I  know  it,  and  it  rejoices  my  depraved 
heart;  misery  loves  company.  We  are  all  in 
the  same  box,  all  but  you,  Clare." 

Belle  Fletcher  laughed  carelessly.  She  was 
a  bright-looking  girl,  older  than  the  others,  and 
appeared  able  to  lead  them,  had  she  desired. 

"  Nellie 's  the  hatefulest  of  us  all ;  but  then 
she  's  an  only  child.  I  've  heard  they  were  gen- 
erally spoiled,"  interrupted  Ettie. 

"  Barbara 's  an  only  child ;  so  am  I,"  piped  a 
younger  one  of  the  group,  well  satisfied. 


86  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

The  elder  girls  laughed,  and  Ettie  good- 
naturedly  clasped  her  hands  and  swung  her 
vigorously  round. 

"  We  must  try  to  win  Nellie,  girls.  I  do  n't 
believe  she  means  it  all." 

"  Her  mother  puts  her  up  to  it ;  she 's  fear- 
fully aristocratic,  you  know,  and  has  taught  Nell 
to  feel  that  the  earth  is  hardly  good  enough  for 
her  to  walk  on.  For  my  part  I  hate  extremes." 

"Yes,  I  agree  with  Belle.  I  can  work,  in 
moderation,  but  I  should  hope  never  to  be  over- 
whelmed with  it,  and  formality  and  style  for 
every-day  fare  would  be  worse  still.  The  mere 
externals  of  life  ought  not  to  stifle  the  freedom 
and  comfort  of  home.  But,  Clare,  what 's  your 
plan  ?" 

"I  have  no  definite  plan,  girls;  only  can't 
we  manage  to  overcome  Nellie's  prejudice  and 
make  Barbara  happy  at  the  same  time  ?  I  am 
sure  her  splendid  recitations  have  stimulated  us 
and  we  average  higher  since  she  came.  Do  n't 
you  think  so  ?" 

"  No  doubt ;  she 's  such  a  midget,  I  'd  die  of 
shame  to  fall  very  far  below  her,  but  I  never 
was  a  dig." 

"  Granted  that  she  is  a  help  to  us  in  this  way, 
if  we  can,  by  being  friendly  with  her,  make  her 
life  brighter  and  teach  her  a  little  more  tasteful 
style  of  dress,  without  letting  her  know  that  we 


BARBARA'S  VISIT.  87 

are  aiming  at  that,  it  seems  to  me,  girls,  it  would 
be  a  lovely  work  to  do." 

"  How  shall  we  do  it  ?  Each  give  her  a  cast- 
off  garment  ?" 

"  Never,  never !  She  must  not  think  that  we 
have  noticed  her  lack  of  skill  in  dress ;  only  let 
us  bring  her  within  our  circle.  That  is  the  first 
thing  to  do ;  the  other  will  follow  naturally." 

"  I  see,  Clare ;  take  the  rough  bit  of  granite 
and  each  of  us  give  a  sly  rub ;  engraft  upon  her 
gradually  our  own  refined  elegancies.  I  can 
agree  easily,  but  what 's  the  motive  ?" 

"  Her  happiness  would  be  enough.  It  might 
have  a  refining  influence  upon  us." 

"  You  mean  me,  Clare.  I  do  n't  blame  you. 
I  deserve  it,  but  it  cuts  all  the  same." 

"  Forgive  me,  Belle.  I  was  thinking  of  the 
class." 

"  Must  we  invite  her  to  our  homes,  as  you 
do  ?"  asked  Ettie. 

"  If  there  should  be  occasion  when  not  to  ask 
her  would  seem  a  slight." 

"  Well,  so  be  it.  I  '11  try  to  swallow  my  pride, 
as  my  mother  says  when  she  goes  to  Mrs.  Per- 
cham's  grand  receptions.  And,  Clare,  if  any  of 
us  stick  out  a  cloven  foot,  just  rest  your  saintly 
eyes  on  us  until  we  are  subdued.  Your  standard 
of  right  and  wrong  is  fearfully  high.  There  's 
the  bell.  And  that  fascinating  little  martyr  in 


88  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

homespun  has  been  digging  away  at  her  Caesar 
while  we  have  been  planning  to  give  her  a  lib- 
eral education  in  art." 

The  weeks  passed  and  Miss  Gray  noticed  that 
her  pupils,  most  of  them,  seemed  vying  with 
each  other  to  make  Barbara's  life  as  brightly 
happy  as  their  own.  A  small  circle  still  kept 
apart  with  Nellie.  She  had  wondered  at  the 
growing  intimacy  of  the  carpenter's  daughter 
with  the  larger  part  of  the  class,  many  of  them 
at  first  as  bitter  as  herself. 

It  could  not  be  from  any  effort  of  Barbara's, 
for  she  seemed  not  to  notice  any  change.  She 
was  absorbed  in  her  work. 

Nellie  felt  ashamed  of  her  petty  persecutions. 
Barbara  was  being  transformed  before  her  from 
a  beggarly  nobody  to  a  high-souled,  heroic  stu- 
dent. Was  she  wavering?  Was  she  doubting 
her  mother's  policy  ?  No,  indeed.  She  believed 
she  almost  hated  the  strange  girl  who  had  made 
her  so  wretched. 

"She  has  spoiled  my  happiness  and  I  just 
despise  her."  Angry  tears  filled  her  eyes.  After 
this  she  refrained  from  open  annoyances,  but 
her  feeling  of  contempt  was  more  than  ever 
apparent. 

Clare  could  not  comprehend  such  a  spirit. 
Hope  and  trust  that  nothing  could  jar  filled  her 
soul  to  overflowing. 


BARBARA  S  VISIT.  89 

Uncle  Eric  had  whispered  to  her  upon  notic- 
ing her  expression  of  annoyance  after  an  un- 
usually disagreeable  encounter  with  Nellie, 

"  Do  n't  be  troubled,  child  ;  right  will  triumph 
in  the  end.  Remember  you  are  hoping  for  the 
welfare  of  both  Nellie  and  Barbara,  and  you  do 
not  work  alone.  It  is  with  Him  as  well  as  for 
Him,  and  He  will  surely  give  the  increase.  We 
have  proved  Him  in  the  past,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  uncle ;  but  Nellie's  spirit  surprises  and 
grieves  me.  I  feel  so  helpless  between  the  two." 

"  With  God  all  things  are  possible.  You  are 
trying  to  do  more  than  your  share  of  the  work. 
He  doesn't  give  it  all  to  you;  be  patient,  take 
the  burden  to  him.  He  will  lead  you,  and  by- 
and-by  a  blessing  will  come.  Never  fear,  my 
child." 

"  Oh  thank  you,  dear  Uncle  Eric,  you  give 
me  courage." 

•*'  Keep  close  to  the  Master  and  you  '11  never 
lose  it" 


90  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MINISTERED   UNTO. 

EVERY  effort  of  the  associate  teachers  of  the 
Hill  School  to  break  through  Miss  Gray's  re- 
serve and  win  her  confidence  had  failed.  Day 
after  day  she  came  among  them  promptly  at 
the  appointed  hour,  with  not  a  moment  to  spare 
for  friendly  courtesy  or  social  intercourse.  She 
would  give  neither  time  nor  opportunity  for 
strangers  to  pierce  her  armor  of  silence. 

Paler,  more  fragile-looking  than  when  she 
began  her  work,  she  often  appeared  at  the  close 
of  the  day  too  weary  to  make  an  effort  to  reach 
home.  But  she  would  not  yield.  Her  iron  will 
was  battling  with  her  waning  strength.  Her 
overmastering  sense  of  duty  compelled  her  to 
press  on  and  would  give  her  brave  spirit  a'vic- 
tory  over  the  frail  body.  These  bright,  cheery 
young  teachers,  full  of  enthusiasm  and  healthy 
vigor,  marvelled  at  her  quiet  endurance,  and 
wondered  what  had  sapped  her  life  of  its  fresh- 
ness and  glow.  She  must  have  passed  through 
seas  of  trouble,  but  not  a  word  or  look  appealed 
to  any  for  help  or  sympathy. 

Prof.  Hamlin  studied  her  with  perplexed  in- 


MINISTERED   UNTO.  gi 

terest.  He  was  puzzled.  Was  she  sacrificing 
herself  for  some  object  unworthy  of  her  pure 
and  beautiful  womanhood  ?  Was  she  jealously 
guarding  a  secret  sin  or  sorrow  of  her  own,  or 
another,  loving  the  sinner  with  her  pure  nature, 
though  trembling  and  fearful  of  the  degrada- 
tion? She  was  young  to  shut  herself  away 
from  all  communion  with  her  kind. 

But  how  did  he  know  this  was  her  object? 
Life  out  of  school  might  be  triumphantly  joy- 
ous; this  might  be  but  the  mask  of  a  proud 
spirit  which  rebelled  at  the  necessity  of  labor. 
But  no;  he  felt  that  he  had  wronged  her  by 
the  thought. 

He  had  sometimes  tried  to  relieve  her  weari- 
ness, but  in  vain ;  to  lighten  her  tasks,  but  she 
ignored  all  such  efforts.  She  would  accept  noth- 
ing from  any  one.  Yes,  she  smiled  at  Jack's 
rough  friendliness,  and  returned  simple  thanks 
for  Barbara's  daily  offering.  The  quick  fire  of 
enthusiasm  lit  up  her  face  sometimes  during  her 
recitations,  but  it  was  fleeting. 

The  master  found  himself  strangely  annoyed 
in  thinking  of  a  life  so  hedged  about  with  mys- 
tery. He  determined  over  and  over  to  give  no 
more  thought  to  it.  If  she  chose  to  look  the 
incarnation  of  wretchedness  and  refuse  all  offers 
of  kindly  interest,  what  was  it  to  him  ?  Noth- 
ing. And  yet  day  after  day  she  appeared 


92  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

before  him,  silently  and  unconsciously  appeal- 
ing to  all  that  was  chivalrous  within  him.  He 
expected  to  learn  that  she  had  sacrificed  her 
youth  and  hope  and  almost  life  itself  for  some 
grand  scheme  that  in  its  failure  had  broken 
her  heart  and  taken  every  ray  of  light  from  her 
life.  He  found  himself  sometimes  gazing  at 
her  still  face  with  a  great  pity,  until  the  least 
quiver  of  her  mouth  and  slight  tremble  of  her 
eyelid  revealed  to  him  that  she  felt  his  gaze  and 
was  annoyed.  Then,  impatiently  dubbing  him- 
self a  brute,  he  would  determine  to  show  no 
more  interest  in  her. 

He  was  a  man  of  singularly  rare  traits :  open 
and  frank  by  nature,  he  never  swerved  from 
the  narrow  line  of  truth  and  rectitude ;  conceal- 
ment was  impossible,  deception  most  repugnant ; 
nothing  so  much  excited  his  scorn  as  falsehood, 
and  no  pupil  won  a  smile  of  approval  more 
quickly,  even  though  guilty  of  wrong -doing, 
than  he  who  frankly  and  truthfully  confessed  a 
fault. 

One  day  in  late  summer  before  the  hour  of 
closing  school  there  were  sudden  signs  of  a 
storm ;  great  masses  of  clouds  gathered  over 
the  sky,  throwing  a  gloom  across  the  landscape 
and  darkening  the  rooms  so  that  study  was  a 
failure.  The  distant  thunder  muttered  omi- 
nously, and  as  a  flash  blinded  them  for  an  in- 


MINISTERED   UNTO.  93 

stant,  Mr.  Hamlin  gave  orders  for  the  classes  to 
be  dismissed  at  once ;  there  might  be  time  for 
all  to  reach  their  homes  before  the  tempest 
broke  upon  them. 

Books  were  speedily  replaced,  garments  hast- 
ily snatched,  and  the  clatter  and  rush  of  the 
hurrying  throng  was  heard  over  the  stairs  and 
through  the  halls.  In  a  few  moments  the  great 
building  was  nearly  deserted,  the  teachers  hav- 
ing speedily  followed  their  flock.  Only  Mr. 
Hamlin  and  Miss  Gray  remained.  She  had 
taken  her  hat  from  the  dressing-room  and  stood 
by  a  window  in  the  main  hall,  looking  out  at  the 
angry  sky  and  approaching  storm. 

The  great  elms  that  lined  both  sides  of  the 
way  swayed  furiously  in  the  wind ;  pedestrians 
were  hurrying  along,  eager  for  shelter ;  horses 
sped  through  the  streets  impelled  by  the  rush 
of  the  elements  or  the  lash  of  the  driver ;  and 
still  she  stood  as  one  dazed  and  helpless. 

A  voice  broke  in  upon  her  revery.  "  Have 
you  far  to  go,  Miss  Gray  ?" 

"  Do  not  wait,  sir.  I  will  remain  here,  if  I 
may ;  I  can't  reach  my  home  before  the  shower." 

"Allow  me  to  wait  upon  you ;  I  always  keep 
an  umbrella  in  the  building  for  emergencies," 
taking  one  from  his  private  room. 

"  I  must  not  trouble  you,  sir ;  I  had  rather 
wait." 


94  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  It  will  not  be  pleasant  to  spend  a  night 
here,  Miss  Gray,  and  it 's  already  late ;  I  really 
cannot  leave  you." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  go ;  perhaps  I  shall  have 
time.  No,  sir,  I  will  not  trouble  you,"  she  added 
decidedly,  as  he  appeared  about  to  accompany  her. 

"  Really,  Miss  Gray,  you  do  wrong.  I  can- 
not allow  you  to  go  alone ;  it  already  rains  and 
there  will  be  torrents  in  a  few  moments ;  I  must 
either  go  with  you  or  stay  here  with  you.  It 
would  be  poor  policy  for  me  to  allow  you  to 
expose  yourself  to  an  attack  of  illness.  Pray  be 
reasonable." 

She  looked  from  the  window  anxiously  and 
drew  a  light  shawl  closer  about  her ;  great  drops 
were  already  falling  upon  the  pavement  and  the 
thunder  kept  up  its  angry  incessant  muttering ; 
flash  after  flash  of  lightning  played  over  her  as 
she  stood  uncertain  by  the  window.  A  timid 
glance  of  indecison  at  his  face  as  he  waited  for 
her  to  be  less  unreasonable,  another  lingering  mo- 
ment at  the  window,  and  he  saw  her  whole  face 
light  up  with  the  same  radiant  smile  that  had 
once  before  covered  it  with  a  beauty  that  was 
very  fascinating. 

"  Shall  we  go  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Here  is  Jack,  sir ;  he  will  go  with  me. 
Pardon  me,  I  could  not  bear  to  trouble  you,  it  is 
so  far,"  she  said  apologetically. 


MINISTERED   UNTO.  95 

"  It  would  have  been  no  trouble,"  and  he 
turned  away,  preparing  to  lock  his  door. 

Like  a  miniature  storm-spirit  Jack  tore  up 
the  stairs,  flung  himself  into  the  corner  where 
Miss  Gray  waited,  breathless  from  haste  and 
wet  from  the  rain,  exclaiming, 

"  Good !  I  'm  in  time,  Miss  Gray.  I  thought 
you'd  be  gone.  Mother  sent  these  things  for 
your  feet,  and  I  'm  to  take  you  home,  she  said. 
I  can  put  them  on — I  do  it  for  mother,"  he 
added,  dropping  on  his  knees  and  holding  the 
sandals  for  her.  In  a  moment  they  were  on. 

"Thank  you,  Jack.  Well  go  now.  Good- 
night, sir." 

Mr.  Hamlin  watched  them  rushing  up  the 
stormy  avenue  with  a  look  of  discomfiture  on 
his  fine  face.  How  readily  he  would  have  ren- 
dered the  same  service ;  he  wondered  why  they 
were  more  acceptable  to  her  from  that  great  rol- 
licking boy.  He  was  all  in  the  dark.  He  knew 
nothing  of  her  lonely  life ;  of  the  early  aspira- 
tions to  be  of  use  in  the  world  and  exert  a  lov- 
ing influence  over  many  who  were  near  and 
dear,  all  crushed ;  of  hopes  and  desires  long 
since  laid  away  one  by  one,  until  the  heart  was 
hopeless  and  the  whole  world  held  nothing  to 
be  desired. 

He  had  seen  something  of  her  power  over 
the  wild,  wayward  boy,  but  he  could  not  know 


96  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

how  much  to  her  was  the  pleasure  of  feeling 
that  in  all  the  crowd  one  life  had  perhaps  been 
made  better  by  her  efforts.  It  was  a  joy  to 
know  that  she  lived  to  some  good  purpose,  even 
though  all  her  own  plans  had  failed — a  quiet  joy 
that  she  could  cherish  without  interfering  with 
the  unending  duties  that  filled  her  days.  It 
was  not  strange  that  Jack  could  bring  the 
brightness  of  her  happy  youth  back  to  her  face. 
We  love  those  we  labor  for,  and  she  had  learned 
to  take  a  deep  interest  in  this  boy,  who  had 
already  been  won  to  better  things  through  her 
gentle  influence.  She  did  him  good,  not  per- 
haps as  the  sun  warmed  and  brightened  the 
earth,  but  as  the  rain  that  washed  and  puri- 
fied. 

On  went  the  two  at  a  rapid  pace,  and  down 
came  the  rain  in  great  splashes,  thicker  and  fast- 
er ;  the  gutters  were  swollen  into  angry  brooks  ; 
the  lightning  played  about  them,  and  the  thun- 
der seemed  to  crash  just  over  their  heads  ;  they 
were  dripping ;  but  on  they  went,  on  and  on.  At 
last  the  city  limits  were  gained.  Jack  was  mys- 
tified. But  he  said  nothing.  As  they  were  pass- 
ing a  long  row  of  high  wooden  buildings,  at  the 
farther  end  she  stopped. 

"  Here  we  are,  Jack.  It 's  been  a  long  walk 
for  you.  I  'm  very  sorry,  but  you  see  it 's  off  the 
line  of  cars,  and  I  must  walk.  It 's  too  bad." 


MINISTERED   UNTO.  97 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  Miss  Gray :  I  'm  glad  for 
you  though." 

"  Come  right  in.  No,  indeed,  you  must  not 
go  back  now ;  wait  until  the  shower  is  over," 
drawing  him  into  the  hall. 

"  Had  I  better?"  he  asked,  with  unusual  deli- 
cacy. 

"  You  must,  Jack.    There 's  no  other  way." 

The  house  seemed  full  of  people — a  family 
on  every  landing,  Jack  thought  as  he  followed 
her.  Up,  up  they  went,  to  the  upper  story,  when 
she  turned  round,  and  taking  his  hand,  said, 

"  Jack,  I  have  a  brother  here ;  he  is  very  ill. 
You  will  not  mind  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,  Miss  Gray." 

"  And — dear  Jack — as  it  is  my  secret,  it  shall 
remain  so  with  you?"  she  asked,  her  lip  quiver- 
ing. 

"  Of  course,  Miss  Gray.  You  may  trust  me. 
But  I  will  go  back  if  it  troubles  you." 

"  No,  come  in,  Jack." 

He  followed  into  a  low  square  room,  plainly 
furnished,  where  a  woman  was  preparing  supper. 
In  a  large  chair  near  the  stove  sat  a  man,  older 
than  Miss  Gray,  but  with  features  so  like  that 
Jack  knew  at  once  he  was  her  brother.  He 
looked  up  vacantly  as  they  entered,  but  sank 
away  at  once  into  a  stupid,  dozy  state,  without 
noticing  them  again. 

Wh»t  Girls  can  Do.  7 


98  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  Is  supper  ready,  Mary  ?"  asked  Miss  Gray. 

"  When  you  change  the  wet  things  it  will  be, 
deary.  Sit  here,  young  man,  and  dry  yourself," 
bringing  a  chair  for  him. 

Jack  was  glad  of  the  warmth,  but  half  sorry 
he  had  not  turned  back  at  the  door.  The  storm 
still  raged.  He  must  stay  now,  but  he  would 
make  it  as  short  as  he  could.  He  did  not  now 
think  Miss  Gray's  reserve  strange.  He  felt  for 
her  a  tender  pity.  He  wished  he  could  do  more 
for  her,  not  dreaming  that  the  most  acceptable 
thing  would  be  to  live  worthy  of  her  friendship. 

He  noticed  a  strange  incongruity  among  the 
furnishings  of  the  room.  The  floor  was  covered 
with  a  colorless  old  carpet  that  once  had  been 
rich,  and  here  and  there  a  piece  of  rare  old  fur- 
niture showed  itself  to  slight  advantage  among 
the  poorer,  more  modern  pieces.  There  was  no 
attempt  at  display,  but  the  room  was  immacu- 
lately neat  even  to  the  little,  cheap-looking  stove 
before  which  he  mused,  and  from  which  the  fra- 
grant odor  of  freshly-made  tea  assailed  his  senses. 

When  Miss  Gray  returned  she  urged  him  so 
sweetly  to  sit  at  table  with  them  that  all  his  reso- 
lution vanished,  and  pulling  off  the  thick  coat 
that  had  proved  a  slight  protection,  he  took  the 
offered  chair. 

From  this  moment  the  teacher's  reserve  van. 
ished.  She  introduced  her  old  nurse,  who  sat 


MINISTERED   UNTO.  99 

near  her  and  poured  the  tea.  She  beamed  upon 
him  over  the  frugal  board,  and  talked  in  a  low 
tone,  but  cheerily,  until  supper  was  over.  Had 
any  one  asked  the  boy  of  what  it  consisted  he 
could  not  have  told.  All  through  it  the  invalid 
sat  quietly  dozing  or  uneasily  muttering  in  his 
chair. 

Occasionally  Jack  glanced  pitifully  in  that  di- 
rection, although  he  respected  the  evident  but 
unexpressed  wishes  of  his  teacher.  He  saw  a 
tall,  skeleton-like  frame  leaning  back  helplessly 
among  cushions,  whose  face  looked  pinched  and 
gray  and  hair  prematurely  white;  his  hands 
were  like  claws  with  the  yellow  skin  drawn  over 
in  wrinkled  folds.  He  scarcely  moved  a  muscle 
while  Jack  stayed.  He  had  had  his  supper,  Jack 
heard  the  nurse  say,  and  seemed  unconscious  of 
anything  about  him.  All  through  the  autumn 
and  winter  following,  packages  of  fruits  and 
other  dainties  were  left  now  and  then  at  the 
door  on  the  upper  landing  of  this  house.  If 
Miss  Gray  knew  from  whence  they  came,  Jack 
also  knew  how  acceptable  was  her  silent  grati- 
tude. 

Not  once  since  that  first  passage  at  arms  with 
Miss  Gray  had  Jack  been  subject  to  reproof  from 
Mr.  Hamlin.  He  was  winning  golden  opinions 
from  the  master,  and  her  manifest  regard  was 
incentive  enough  to  change  his  waywardness 


IOO  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

into  a  most  delightful  comradeship  for  them 
both.  He  often  quoted  his  mother,  and  she 
learned  to  look  upon  the  unknown  friend  through 
the  son's  eyes. 

"  Mother  would  like  to  have  you  come  and 
see  her,  Miss  Gray.  She  would  call  on  you,  but 
it 's  a  long,  long  time  since  she  has  been  out  of 
the  house." 

"  Is  she  very  ill,  Jack?" 

"  Not  so  very,  the  doctor  says ;  just  enough  to 
keep  at  home  and  make  us  all  happy.  I  tell  you, 
Miss  Gray,  there  isn't  a  spot  in  the  world  so 
bright  and  jolly  as  mother's  room.  We  are  all 
there  evenings." 

"  You  are  to  be  envied,  Jack.  But  I  am  sure 
your  mother  will  excuse  me  if  I  do  not  call.  You 
know  how  much  it  would  please  me,  but  I  have 
little  time  or  heart  for  ceremony ;  my  life  now  is 
one  of  work." 

"  Too  bad !"  he  muttered. 

"  Not  that,  Jack.  It  has  been  appointed  by  a 
wisdom  we  may  not  understand." 

One  sunny  Saturday  morning  Jack  drove  up 
to  the  great  bald-looking  city  tenement  house, 
and  fastening  his  horse  climbed  the  stairs  to  ask 
Miss  Gray  to  ride  with  him. 

"  Would  you  like  a  breath  of  country  air,  and 
a  little  tramp  in  some  grand  old  woods  I  know 
not  far  from  the  city  ?" 


MINISTERED   UNTO.  IOI 

The  very  thought  gave  her  new  life,  and  soon 
they  were  on  the  way,  as  free  and  happy  as  old 
friends.  Little  jets  of  thought  and  sentiment 
flashed  between  their  souls;  the  almost  flinty 
look  of  her  face  passed  away  as  the  stern  neces- 
sity of  endurance  was  forgotten.  Jack  said  en- 
thusiastically, 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  had  always  known  you,  Miss 
Gray ;  I  felt  so  the  first  time  I  saw  you  at 
school." 

"  All  whom  we  meet  for  the  first  time,  Jack, 
are  not  strangers ;  and  many  that  we  talk  with 
every  day  for  years  would  always  be  unknown  to 
us,  and  we  to  them.  A  new  face  sometimes  has 
friendship  written  all  over  it.  The  meeting  of 
such  souls  is  an  event  in  life.  It  may  have  been 
so  with  us." 

Jack  was  happy;  for  Miss  Gray's  reticence 
had  never  before  allowed  her  to  speak  so  freely 
even  to  her  pupil.  Few  had  seen  beneath  the 
calm  exterior ;  few  understood  the  hidden 
strength  she  held  in  reserve.  To  this  fun-lov- 
ing, merry-hearted  boy  had  been  revealed  more 
of  her  rich  nature  than  to  any  other,  and  he 
loved  her  as  he  would  an  older  sister.  But  he 
was  shy  with  all  his  frankness ;  he  hardly  ven- 
tured to  show  her  all  the  feelings  his  heart  held 
for  her,  little  knowing,  boy  as  he  was,  that  she 
read  him  as  an  open  book. 


102  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  You  must  have  some  flowers,  Miss  Gray,  to 
carry  home." 

"  Yes ;  can  we  explore  these  woods  ?  Is  there 
time  ?" 

"  The  whole  day  if  you  choose,"  and  drawing 
up  to  the  roadside  he  helped  her  to  alight. 

It  seemed  to  Jack  that  his  teacher  for  once 
might  throw  off  all  care,  all  thoughts  of  cold 
duty,  and  give  herself  up  to  the  full  enjoyment 
of  this  delightful  freedom.  So  long  and  dreary 
had  been  the  time  since  she  had  roamed  the  tan- 
gled wildwood.  She  was  a  child  again ;  the  low 
branches,  she  said,  brushed  all  the  cobwebs  from 
her  brain.  It  was  exhilarating;  a  freshness 
came  in  soft  color  to  her  cheek,  a  light  and  spar- 
kle to  her  eye,  new  to  Jack,  who  watched  the 
changes  in  her  as  an  artist  absorbs  himself  in  a 
picture. 

She  was  at  home  with  nature.  She  knew  its 
secrets.  She  found  the  sly  crevices  where  the 
lichen  -  cups  conceal  their  jewels,  the  solitary 
spot  where  the  fragrant  twin  linnaea  grows  most 
luxuriantly  and  the  delicate  mitella  sends  up  its 
white  raceme ;  her  quick  eye  detected  the  par- 
tridge-vine with  its  scarlet  berries.  She  saw 
where  the  rankest  clumps  of  ferns  were  con- 
cealed, and  gathered  the  uncurled  fronds  in 
great  generous  bunches  and  mixed  them  with 
the  curiously  shaped  maiden-hair,  carrying  back 


MINISTERED   UNTO.  103 

to  the  carriage  enough  of  the  wealth  of  the  forest 
to  "  trim  her  humble  room  most  gorgeously,"  she 
said. 

"  Now  let  me  help  you  in,  Miss  Gray,  before 
I  unhitch,  and  here  is  a  little  lunch  mother  sent, 
for  she  says  it 's  hungry  business  to  ride  in  the 
country." 

"Why,  Jack,  how  delightful!  What  a 
thoughtful  mother  she  must  be." 

"  She 's  just  a  daisy."  And  Jack  drew  out  a 
dainty  willow-basket,  jumped  in  beside  his  teach- 
er, who  felt  more  like  a  happy  girl  than  she  had 
for  years,  and  opening  the  tiny  hamper  he  spread 
a  napkin  on  her  knees  and  held  the  lunch  before 
her.  "  What  do  you  like  best,  Miss  Gray  ?  Here 
are  sandwiches  and  crackers  and  ladies'  fingers, 
and  under  this  napkin  are  some  olives.  Do  you 
like  olives?" 

"  Delicious,  Jack ;  to  tell  the  truth,  the  very 
sight  gives  me  a  famished  feeling." 

"  I  do  n't  wonder.  We  've  been  roaming 
round  for  hours  ;  it 's  after  lunch-time  by  consid- 
erable. Mother  always  knows  just  what  to  do. 
See  here !"  and  he  drew  out  a  flask  with  a  little 
cup. 

"  What  have  you  there,  my  boy?" 

"  Milk,  pure  and  simple.  It 's  mother's  pana- 
cea for  everything  ;  she  lives  on  it." 

"  That 's  sensible.     Fruit  too !" 


104  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  Grapes.  Eat  all  you  can,  then  we  '11  gather 
up  the  debris  and  jog  along." 

"Jack,  I  've  had  a  delightful  outing." 

"  So  have  I.  I  'd  like  to  give  you  one  every 
week,  Miss  Gray." 

And  all  through  the  days  of  study  Jack  an- 
ticipated his  approaching  Saturday  holiday,  glad 
that  he  was  able  to  bring  a  fresh  glow  to  his 
teacher's  cheek  and  a  new  light  to  her  eye. 

The  faithful  old  nurse  emphasized  his  invita- 
tions by  every  inducement  she  could  hold  out 
for  her  young  mistress  to  accept.  She  saw  it  was 
renewed  life  to  her  and  the  promise  of  more 
strength  for  an  uncertain  future.  She  knew  the 
pressure  of  grief  and  harrowing  anxiety  was  sap- 
ping her  power  of  endurance,  and  would  event- 
ually endanger  health  and  life. 

Many  a  delightful  ramble  they  took  together 
after  this,  many  a  secluded  spot  of  almost  prim- 
itive beauty  they  discovered  and  explored,  some- 
times walking  to  the  nearest  woods  through  old, 
well-shaded  roads,  which  turned  and  wound  in 
all  directions  from  this  unsettled  quarter;  for 
the  demands  of  the  growing  city  had  not  en- 
croached as  yet  upon  the  farming  district.  More 
often  the  pony  and  cart,  Jack's  gay  little  equi- 
page, drove  up  to  the  humble  home,  causing  a 
flutter  of  neighborly  excitement  among  the 
kindly  people  of  the  block,  who  had  in  some  way 


MINISTERED   UNTO.  IO5 

learned  that  the  pale,  weary-looking  girl  was 
bravely  bearing  a  depressing  burden  on  her  frail 
shoulders. 

Then  those  cool,  bracing  mornings,  overflow- 
ing with  the  precious  elixir  of  life,  those  rides 
over  the  hills,  through  tangled  lanes,  down  into 
broad  valleys,  where  now  and  again,  through 
clumps  of  chestnut,  oak,  and  fragrant  pine,  they 
caught  snatches  of  wondrous  beauty — far  off  be- 
yond the  river's  peaceful  flow,  among  the  hazy, 
distant  hills,  where  rich  autumnal  colors  rioted. 
Here  and  there  masses  of  New  England  granite 
lined  the  way,  covered  with  thick  damp  moss, 
and  from  each  cleft  and  rent,  bunches  of  fern 
and  vine  upspringing  seemed  to  bid  them  wel- 
come. 

The  red-tipped  woodbine  flamed  on  stump 
and  fence.  Clematis  spread  here  and  there  in 
great  masses,  clinging  to  everything  it  could 
touch,  throwing  out  its  long,  graceful  sprays  of 
feathery  seed  vessels  for  them  to  grasp  as  they 
passed,  bitter-sweet  winding  and  climbing  au- 
daciously, laughing  down  at  their  often  vain 
attempts  to  capture  it ;  and  the  wild  grape  wind- 
ing its  wealth  of  fragrance  about  the  white  birch 
which  bent  to  its  support.  Never  had  the  ripen- 
ing glories  of  the  year  so  appealed  to  them  as 
now.  Nature  was  at  her  best, 


106  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   FLIGHT   SOUTH. 

THE  summer  was  but  a  memory,  the  autumn 
at  its  brilliant  height,  gorgeous  and  perfect; 
crimson,  gold,  soft  yellows,  and  rich  browns 
reigned  everywhere ;  over  all  the  perfect  blue 
of  heaven  brought  out  the  glowing  tints  of 
ripening  foliage,  luscious  clustering  fruit,  and 
sharp,  bold  lines  of  reddish-brown  and  warm 
gray  rock,  covered  with  great  patches  of  moss 
and  clinging  lichen,  each  day  more  crisp,  cool, 
and  breezy  than  the  last.  Summer's  valedictory 
was  rehearsed  in  jubilant  measure. 

On  such  a  morning  Aunt  Clarissa  made  her 
appearance  at  her  sister's,  her  small,  delicate 
features  and  quick  glance  full  of  mystery  and 
desire  to  reveal  it. 

"  What  in  the  world  has  happened,  Clarissa  ?" 

"  You  may  well  ask.    Where 's  Edward  ?" 

"At  the  office;  he  will  be  here  at  lunch. 
Why?" 

"  Read  this  letter  and  you  will  know  all  I 
do." 

She  laid  aside  hat  and  wrap  while  Mrs.  Ham- 
lin  eagerly  perused  the  letter. 


THE   FLIGHT   SOUTH.  IO/ 

Let  us  take  this  time  to  furnish  a  clew  to  the 
cause  of  Aunt  Clarissa's  excitement.  Their  only 
brother,  Harry  Brainard,  had  met  with  over- 
whelming business  reverses.  His  fine  property 
had  been  swept  away,  his  home  was  in  the 
hands  of  strangers,  the  wife  and  three  children 
looking  to  him  for  daily  supplies. 

Stunned,  helpless,  unknown  deprivations 
staring  him  in  the  face,  and  they,  the  slender 
wife,  the  two  manly  boys,  the  five-year-old  girl, 
like  a  bud  just  unfolding  into  delicious  beauty, 
with  their  bewildered,  frightened  gaze  fixed 
upon  him  as  the  rock  of  their  strength  tower- 
ing above  their  feebleness.  He  looked  on  them 
and  suppressed  a  groan.  This  was  no  time  for 
weakness.  He  must  gather  his  forces,  throw  off 
this  creeping  paralysis,  this  overpowering  leth- 
argy, not  be  routed  by  adversity.  He  girded 
himself  for  the  conflict  and  smiled  bravely  in 
their  trusting  eyes. 

From  that  moment  the  wife's  courage  assert- 
ed itself.  The  two  boys  were  filled  with  ambi- 
tion and  determination  to  help  their  father  re- 
trieve his  fortune. 

The  sisters  knew  nothing  of  this  change  of 
circumstances.  He  would  not  write  until  he 
had  better  tidings  to  communicate  or  something 
definite. 

At  last  his  plans  were  formed.    He  had  spent 


108  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

his  boyhood  upon  the  farm  at  Stanton  Falls, 
and  since  his  marriage  a  large  Western  farm 
had  given  him  a  competence  until  now.  No 
other  way  of  success  seemed  possible  to  him. 
He  understood  no  other  work.  By  no  fault  of 
his  own  he  had  lost  his  inheritance  and  the 
result  of  twenty  years'  labor.  He  must  begin 
again,  with  the  added  weight  of  years,  the  added 
incentive  of  a  beloved  family. 

Gathering  the  fragments,  he  converted  all 
not  needed  for  immediate  use  into  ready  money 
and  wrote  a  few  curt  lines  to  his  elder  sister  : 

"  MY  DEAR  CLARISSA  : — We  have  disposed 
of  the  farm,  are  packing  and  in  great  confusion. 
Have  decided  to  make  a  new  home  farther 
South.  Shall  be  ready  the  last  of  the  month  to 
start  with  our  belongings  for  Florida.  Shall  not 
be  able  to  see  you  before  we  go.  Hope  some 
time  to  have  a  place  where  you  can  enjoy  your 
winters.  Inform  Dolly,  and  for  the  present  ad- 
dress me  at  Jacksonville.  Shall  not  remain 
there,  but  take  advantage  of  a  temporary  offer 
and  time  to  select  a  place.  All  letters  will  be 
forwarded  from  there." 

The  sisters  were  amazed ;  this  dear  younger 
brother  going  to  an  almost  unsettled  country, 
for  all  they  knew!  The  Western  home  had 
seemed  far  off,  but  they  could  meet  easily  and 
at  any  season.  Now  what  possibilities  lay  be- 


THE  FLIGHT  SOUTH.  109 

fore  them?  What  might  not  happen  before 
they  could  meet  again  ?  What  could  it  mean, 
this  breaking  up  of  the  comfortable  home  after 
eighteen  years  of  happy  life  in  it  ? 

It  was  like  a  blow  in  the  face  to  the  elder 
sister.  Her  whole  soul  had  enveloped  her  bro- 
ther in  the  strongest  affection ;  every  added 
member  of  his  family  circle  was  welcomed  as 
her  very  own.  They  had  met  but  once  during 
the  five  years  of  Maggie's  adoption  into  her 
secluded  life,  years  in  which  she  had  found  the 
only  true  happiness,  that  of  giving.  She  had 
watched  with  ever-increasing  interest  the  subtile 
changes  from  wild  deformity  to  the  grace  and 
beauty  of  Christian  development.  It  had  been 
a  blessed  change  for  the  friendless,  neglected, 
and  abused  child.  It  had  certainly  filled  the 
lonely  woman's  life  with  the  highest  joy,  of  stri- 
ving for  a  human  soul;  and  Maggie,  who  had 
not  desired  to  "know  Jesus,"  in  her  satisfaction 
with  these  delightful  new  friends,  learned  slowly, 
surely,  day  by  day,  that  He  was  the  first  source 
of  this  wonderful  change  going  on  in  her  young 
life.  Gradually  the  name  grew  familiar  and 
dear ;  a  reverence  too  deep  and  holy  for  words 
to  portray  governed  her  conduct  and  overcame 
the  sad  results  of  neglect  and  abuse.  She  learned 
to  drop  from  speech  and  action  the  unlovely 
dress  of  her  earlier  life,  and  knew  at  last  that 


IIO  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

her  body  might  become  the  fit  temple  of  the 
Holy  Ghost  and  her  soul  be  hid  with  Christ  in 
God. 

Like  a  rank  weed  from  the  wild  jungle  she 
became  transformed  by  culture  and  generous, 
loving  care  into  a  sweet  flower  in  the  garden  of 
the  King.  A  blessing  had  come  to  both  hearts 
thereby.  As  all  true  joy  finds  its  source  in 
Christ,  Maggie  learned  through  Aunt  Clarissa's 
patient  teaching  to  trace  each  added  blessing  of 
this  strange  experience  back  to  the  love  that  was 
every  morning  new  and  every  evening  fresh. 

Now  Clarissa's  quiet  duties  were  interrupted  ; 
together  the  sisters  studied  every  syllable  of 
this  unwelcome  missive.  At  lunch  Mrs.  Ham- 
lin  explained  to  her  husband,  asking  with  emo- 
tion, "What  can  it  mean,  Edward?  What 
crotchet  has  he  in  his  head?  Is  he  wild  or 
sick?" 

"Neither,  I  think ;  but  it's  a  sudden  move." 

"  It  can't  be  a  matter  of  health." 

"  He  says  nothing  of  the  sort — a  purely  busi- 
ness arrangement,  I  judge.  It 's  a  risk." 

Aunt  Clarissa  looked  flushed  and  pained.  It 
was  as  though  a  child  were  going  astray  and  she 
powerless  to  restrain  it. 

"  It 's  not  like  him ;  evidently  he  has  nothing 
permanent  in  view." 
-    Mr.  Hamlin  shook  his  head. 


THE  FLIGHT  SOUTH.  Ill 

"  Ready,  Eric  ?  I  '11  go  with  you  a  piece. 
Harry  seems  unsettled.  I  don't  like  the  look 
of  it." 

"  Nor  I.  There  's  some  mystery  about  it, 
something  wrong,  Edward,  and  my  mind  is 
made  up.  I  can  reach  them  before  they  start. 
I  shall  go  at  once,"  struck  in  the  sister  sharply. 

"Why,  Clarissa,  what  are  you  thinking  of? 
This  cold  weather !" 

"  Not  a  word,  Dolly.  I  shall  go.  The  dear 
fellow  is  in  trouble.  I  can  read  between  the 
lines.  He  needs  help.  This  bravado  is  only  to 
mislead  us.  That  mortgage  is  at  the  bottom  of 
it,  and  if  so  we  must  help  him.  But  I  '11  go  to 
him  to-morrow,  and  I  depend  on  you  to  start 
me  off  safely." 

"Don't  be  rash,  Clarissa,"  said  her  brother- 
in-law  with  a  perplexed  expression. 

"  I  Ve  thought  of  it,  Edward,  from  the  first. 
I  shall  go  home  at  once  and  be  ready  to  come 
in  by  the  first  train.  I  leave  all  the  details  of 
the  journey  to  you,  but  I  must  see  his  face  be- 
fore he  goes  so  far  from  me." 

"  Edward  dearest,"  began  his  wife. 

"  Do  n't  speak  of  it,  Dolly,"  laughing  into  her 
pleading  face.  "  It 's  impossible  for  me  to  leave 
now.  Don't  think  of  it,  dear." 

"  Let  me  go  with  sister.  I  must  see  them. 
We  don't  know  what  is  before  them." 


112  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

"True;  but  so  far  at  this  time  of  the  year? 
Think!" 

Miss  Brainard  looked  doubtful,  then  bright- 
ening, said,  "  Let  her  go,  Edward.  She  '11  be 
miserable  without.  I  know  just  how  she  feels. 
He 's  a  dear  brother  to  us  both.  Clare  can  take 
her  mother's  place,  and  it  wont  be  over  ten  or 
twelve  days  at  most.  Trust  me  to  look  out  for 
her  comfort  first." 

"Oh  you  are  to  be  trusted.  Well,  have  it 
your  own  way ;  but  do  n't  forget  it 's  a  time  for 
sharp  changes,  and  protect  yourselves." 

"  How  lovely !"  said  Clare.  "  I  wish  I  was 
going." 

"  You  must  take  your  mother's  place,  Petkin  ; 
it 's  a  grand  time  for  you  to  learn." 

"  We  '11  make  things  go  swimmingly,  wont 
we,  Clare?"  sang  Dot,  dancing  away  to  get 
ready  for  school. 

"  Shall  I  stay  at  home  and  help  you,  mam- 
ma?" 

"  Yes,  Clare,  you  may  begin  duties  at  once ; 
I  shall  have  a  host  to  do.  Going,  Clarissa?" 

"  I  must  catch  this  train ;  so  glad  we  can  go 
together,  Dolly.  Take  as  little  luggage  as  you 
can.  I  could  go  round  the  world  with  a  grip- 
sack. But  now  for  the  Falls;  fix  Becky  and 
Maggie  and  be  back  early  to-morrow.  Was 
never  so  shaken  in  my  life.  If  Harry  Brainard 


THE   FLIGHT   SOUTH.  113 

thinks  to  dodge  me  in  this  way,  he  '11  find  I  'm 
up  to  him."  She  laughed  grimly.  "Oh  I  re- 
member his  boyish  pranks ;  but  he  never  got 
the  advantage  of  me,  Dolly." 

"  Oh,  Clarissa,  what  a  host  you  are !  I  shall 
feel  as  safe  with  you  as  with  Edward." 

"  Safe !  No  trouble  about  travelling  any- 
where in  America  safely  now-a-days,  or  for  that 
matter,  the  world  over.  Women  are  a  power, 
Dolly.  Good-by  ;  there  's  the  carriage !"  and 
with  a  breezy  air  she  was  off. 

There  was  a  small  tumult  of  preparation  in 
the  old  family  mansion  at  Stanton  Falls  that 
night ;  but  before  they  slept  every  arrange- 
ment was  perfected  for  an  early  start  the  next 
day. 

Maggie  hardly  knew  how  to  take  this  first 
parting,  and  smiled  rather  dubiously,  until  her 
adopted  aunt  kissed  her  with  a  swift,  tender  mo- 
tion, saying,  "  I  shall  be  back  in  two  weeks  at 
most,  and  if  you  want  to  spend  a  day  or  two 
with  Clare,  Becky  wont  mind  being  alone.  I 
shall  write  from  Chicago.  Good-by,  Becky.  Do 
just  as  you  please  about  everything." 

With  almost  the  elastic  spring  of  girlhood 
the  self-reliant  spinster  stepped  into  the  carriage 
that  was  waiting  to  take  her  to  the  station.  Her 
brother-in-law  met  her  in  the  city.  They  went 
to  the  house  together. 

What  0lrli  c»n  Do  S 


114  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

"  You  can  start  in  an  hour,  or  wait  until  even- 
ing and  make  good  connections." 

"  We  will  go  at  once.  I  do  n't  want  to  wait  a 
moment  anywhere." 

He  smiled  at  her  spirit.  There  had  always 
been  a  feeling  of  good  fellowship  between  them. 

"What  a  royal  man  of  business  you  would 
have  made !" 

"  I  'd  have  owed  no  man  anything,  you  may 
be  sure.  I  'd  have  no  outlying  debts  or  mort- 
gaged property ;  a  shanty  North  or  a  tent  even 
at  the  South,  but  I  'd  own  every  rag  of  it  or 
nothing." 

"  I  believe  you.  It  would  be  safe  if  not  lux- 
urious. If  the  boy's  in  trouble  let  me  know. 
We  must  share  the  load  with  him." 

"  Of  course.  That 's  one  grand  use  of  the 
family.  Such  needs  rightly  met  make  the  ties 
strong." 

Then  followed  instructions  as  to  the  route  of 
travel,  time,  connections,  and  possible  delays,  a 
note  or  two  in  case  of  doubt  or  perplexity. 

"  Have  no  fear,  Edward ;  I  can  use  my  tongue, 
and  conductors  are  long-suffering  and  patient. 
We  shall  go  through  all  right.  But  think  of 
their  amazement  when  they  look  upon  us." 

"  Yes,  I  'd  like  to  look  on  that  scene." 

Clare,  now  the  mother's  helper,  was  some- 
what oppressed  by  her  new  burden  of  responsi- 


THE   FLIGHT   SOUTH.  11$ 

bility  and  carried  a  serious  look  in  her  gentle 
eyes.  Dot  fluttered  about  with  a  vague  desire 
to  help  which  proved  abortive. 

"  We  shall  go  at  once.  Dolly,  are  you 
ready  ?" 

"  Clarissa,  how  you  rush ;  electricity  is  slow 
compared  to  you !" 

"  Well,  we  must  be  off.  We  '11  rest  in  the 
cars  and  have  a  long  day  of  it.  Clare,  Maggie 
will  be  in  for  a  few  days,  so  don't  look  woe- 
begone. Good-by,  dear."  Her  mother  held  her 
tight. 

It  was  Clare's  first  experience  of  the  kind. 
Oh  how  faithful  sha  meant  to  be  ! 

Uncle  Eric  drew  her  in  from  the  steps,  where 
she  lingered  watching  the  departure. 

"  Is  it  weighty,  little  housekeeper?" 

"  I  hope  I  can  make  you  all  comfortable." 

"  No  doubt  of  it.  You  will  be  as  famous  as 
your  mother  by  the  time  they  are  back." 

"  How  we  shall  miss  her !"  There  was  a 
thrill  of  pathos  in  her  voice.  This  short  separa- 
tion was  painful  as  an  unknown  sorrow  to  the 
clinging  girl.  She  had  never  before  known  the 
home  without  her  mother. 

Uncle  Eric's  cheer  helped  the  machinery  to 
run  smoothly  for  his  favorite  during  this  short 
absence,  and  there  was  no  apparent  change  in 
the  household  affairs. 


Il6  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

For  the  two  weeks  following  Clare  returned 
to  the  former  method  of  study,  reciting  occa- 
sionally evenings  to  her  uncle.  To  her  it  was  a 
pleasant  change.  Barbara  missed  her  and  the 
support  of  her  favor,  and  Nellie  asserted  her 
old  power  over  a  few  fickle  minds. 

We  must  take  a  flying  trip  with  the  sisters 
to  the  Western  home,  which  in  due  time  they 
reached,  to  the  amazement  of  each  member  of 
the  busy  family.  It  would  be  impossible  to  por- 
tray the  feelings  of  the  brother  ;  he  was  speech- 
less. This  unexpected  apparition  of  the  only 
two  remaining  from  the  life  of  the  past  almost 
unmanned  him. 

His  younger  sister  clung  to  him  sobbing 
even  as  her  own  Dot  would  have  done,  but  Cla- 
rissa stood  erect,  her  face  pale,  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  his. 

"  Well,  Harry  Brainard !" 

41 1  hope  it  is  well,"  with  a  slight  tremor  in 
his  tone. 

"  I  came  to  find  out." 

"  God  bless  you,  Clarissa !"  He  grasped  her 
hand  and  kissed  the  firm  mouth  that  would 
have  trembled  had  her  will  been  weaker,  but 
she  was  in  the  habit  of  controlling  her  emotions. 
She  held  herself  with  a  powerful  grip.  She 
had  been  called  hard  by  superficial  acquaint- 
ances ;  those  who  knew  her  well  had  fathomed 


THE   FLIGHT  SOUTH. 

the  depths  of  her  nature  and  knew  the  treasure 
hid  beneath  its  surface.  She  was  one  out  of 
many — rare,  self-contained,  womanly,  but  reso- 
lute, strong,  and  hopeful. 

The  wife  and  boys  were  overjoyed.  It  was 
a  heavenly  day  for  them,  this  coming  of  the 
two,  from  whom  but  the  day  before  they  had 
seemed  for  ever  parted,  into  their  life  of  toil, 
weariness,  and  unspoken  fear.  It  was  enough 
to  turn  the  darkest  night  to  glowing  day. 

"  Let 's  drop  the  packing,  wifie,  and  have  a 
day  of  unmitigated  rest,  enjoy  our  guests,  and 
throw  care  to  the  winds." 

"That's  right,  Harry.  Dolly  and  I  came 
to  help,  but  we  must  have  our  argument  first. 
Are  we  powerful  enough  to  forbid  the 
banns?" 

"Too  late  for  that.  But,  little  woman,  can 
you  and  Ned  get  them  up  a  lunch?  and  let's 
have  a  holiday.  Upon  my  word,  but  I  feel  like 
a  boy  again." 

"  I  Ve  never  considered  you  any  other  than 
a  boy,  and  this  mad  freak  is  the  climax,  it  seems 
to  me." 

"Don't  be  sharp,  Clarissa.  It's  all  right. 
What  started  you?" 

"Your  letter,  to  be  sure.  Did  you  think, 
Harry  Brainard,  to  take  advantage  of  me  in  my 
old  age?" 


Il8  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

He  laughed  gleefully,  throwing  back  his 
head  in  the  old  delightful  way. 

"  I  never  shall  again,  wherever  I  may  be. 
And  Dolly,  too.  How  could  Edward  trust  you 
so  far  without  him  ?  He 's  a  grand  old  fellow." 

"  Harry,  I  should  have  died  not  to  have  seen 
you  again." 

"  We  '11  have  many  a  gay  home-coming  yet, 
no  fear.  See  how  our  baby  Kitty  has  grown; 
our  song-bird  we  call  her.  Go  to  auntie,  dear. 
She  '11  soon  remember.  We  have  talked  of  you 
so  much,  she  knows  you  both  and  all  the  young- 
sters. How  are  they  ?"  Thus  the  light  words 
flowed  over  the  undercurrent  of  the  hidden 
sorrow  they  dared  not  touch  upon. 

A  quickly-prepared  chicken,  delicately  warmed 
potatoes,  fresh  eggs,  and  a  fragrant  cup  of  coffee 
revived  and  cheered  them  all.  The  rest  of  the 
day  was  devoted  to  serious  explanations,  doubt- 
ful plans,  and  uncertain  hopes  of  success. 

"  I  can  be  nothing  but  a  farmer.  I  have  lost 
the  place  irretrievably.  I  can't  buy  another 
here,  and  I  wont  leave  my  boys  the  burden  of 
debt  I  have  staggered  under  for  years." 

"  Do  n't  talk  of  leaving  at  your  age,"  ex- 
claimed the  younger  sister. 

"Well,  then  I  wont  harness  another  debt 
upon  my  own  shoulders.  I  have  saved  enough 
to  take  up  a  few  acres  of  Government  land  in 


THE  FLIGHT  SOUTH.  119 

Florida.  I  think  with  the  boys'  help  I  can  clear 
and  farm  it  so  that  in  a  few  years  it  will  support 
us." 

"  Meantime  !"  exclaimed  Clarissa. 

"  I  'm  coming  to  that.  We  must  live  care- 
fully, work  reasonably — well,  do  the  best  we 
can  with  the  little  surplus  that  will  remain." 

"And  you  are  bent  on  going?  You  will  not 
give  it  up  ?"  with  an  eager  hope. 

"We  are  pledged  to  try  it.  A  friend  in 
Jacksonville  has  engaged  a  position  for  me  to 
take  care  of  groves  for  a  gentleman  who  has  a 
large  estate  and  can  give  a  fair  salary.  Ned  can 
help  to  advantage.  We  shall  live  close,  save  all 
we  can,  take  time  to  look  about,  and  make  the 
best  selection  we  can  for  ourselves.  What  have 
you  against  that  ?" 

"  Sounds  very  well,  but  there  are  two  sides 
to  every  story.  The  winters  will  no  doubt  be 
delightful,  but  how  will  you  both  manage  the 
long,  hot  summers  ?  It  must  be  simply  fearful." 

"  No,  they  tell  me  the  heat  is  not  intolerable, 
because  the  low  peninsula  is  swept  by  either 
the  ocean  or  gulf  breezes  daily ;  the  nights  are 
cool  and  longer,  the  hours  of  sunshine  are 
shorter  than  at  the  North,  which  people  do  not 
always  remember.  This  friend  has  spent  two 
summers  there,  and  says  he  has  never  had 
better  health." 


120  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

" Is  he  a  salamander?" 

"Then  the  frequent  rains  change  the  tem- 
perature daily  and  make  it  a  delightful  climate 
even  in  the  hottest  season,  so  he  says.  In  a  year 
I  '11  give  you  my  experience ;  you  may  want  to 
sell  out  and  join  me,  Clarissa." 

"  Never !  But  if  you  should  fail  of  your  El 
Dorado,  the  old  home  stands  ready  always  with 
open  doors  and  a  warm  welcome,  if  I  am  in  it." 

He  reached  out  and  took  her  hand.  "  My 
plan  is  more  for  my  boys  than  for  myself.  I  can 
give  them  no  inheritance  here ;  we  can  make  it 
together  there." 

"  Perhaps." 

When  they  were  alone  she  insisted  upon  his 
taking  a  generous  check,  telling  him  she  had 
plenty  and  no  earthly  use  for  it  but  to  share 
with  others,  and  his  claim  was  first.  Should  he 
buy  land,  she  would  like  an  interest  in  it;  and 
if  he  ever  had  to  mortgage  his  home  again,  let 
it  be  to  her.  "  Let  us  keep  our  family  affairs  in 
the  family  after  this,  brother." 

"  We  will ;  but  you  see  how  it  was.  I  made 
a  mistake,  but  I  did  n't  want  you  to  know  it." 

"  Proud  fellow !  Trust  your  old  sister  to  find 
out  your  blunders.  I  shall  keep  my  eye  on  you 
after  this.  And,  Harry,  be  careful  of  Lucy. 
It 's  to  be  a  new  experience  for  her.  She 's  not 
strong;  give  her  plenty  of  help.  Remember  I 


THE  FLIGHT    SOUTH.  121 

stand  ready  to  help  you  out.  Do  n't  fail  to  let 
me  know  just  how  you  get  along.  I  feel  as 
though  you  were  all  going  to  sure  martyrdom." 

"  Not  so  bad  as  that ;  but  you  shall  have  facts 
as  fast  as  we  make  them." 

The  labors  of  the  following  busy  days  were 
lightened  by  the  sisters'  willing  hands,  and  they 
decided  to  break  up  a  few  days  earlier  and  all 
go  on  to  Chicago  for  a  little  time  together  there 
before  the  final  separation. 

"The  present  state  of  my  finances  forbids 
my  inviting  you  all  to  the  swell  hotel  of  the 
city,"  began  the  brother  doubtfully. 

"  Now,  Harry,  this  is  to  be  my  treat ;  I 
planned  it  from  the  first.  I  shall  pay  all  bills 
and  we  are  to  spend  three  days  at  the  best  hotel. 
This  is  to  be  my  last  outing  until  I  see  you 
again." 

"  So  be  it.  I  'm  resigned,  Clarissa.  That 
last  day  of  boxing  Lucy's  treasures  lamed  every 
muscle  in  my  body ;  but  they  're  well  done ; 
they'd  go  safely  around  the  world.  And  now 
for  repose  and  the  delights  of  sight-seeing." 

Oh  those  days!  It  would  be  difficult  for 
them  to  slip  from  the  memory  of  any  one  of  the 
little  circle.  They  came  to  an  end  at  last.  The 
parting  over,  they  turned  each  to  their  own  des- 
tination, satisfied  that  they  had  met,  sorrowful 
that  they  must  part,  but  with  increased  hope. 


122  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

The  sisters  were  soon  at  home  rehearsing  to 
eager  listeners  the  whole  story.  The  other 
party,  fresh  from  the  three  days  of  delightful 
rest,  went  on  towards  Louisville,  Chattanooga, 
through  Atlanta  to  Jacksonville. 

In  ten  days  the  first  tidings  were  received, 
and  Clarissa  bowed  with  grateful  love  to  Him 
who  had  proved  their  guide  and  helper.  She 
could  indeed  sing,  "  I  will  trust  and  not  be 
afraid,  for  the  Lord  Jehovah  is  my  strength  and 
my  song." 


"INASMUCH."  123 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

"INASMUCH." 

NELLIE  MILLER  was  a  lonely  schoolgirl  at 
this  time.  The  few  who  still  hung  about  her 
were  not  favorites.  Quick  to  read  their  motive, 
she  tolerated  them  in  lieu  of  better  company. 
Clare's  stern  idea  of  duty  had  seemed  to  in- 
crease the  trouble. 

She  told  her  mother  in  a  querulous  tone  that 
all  the  fun  and  frolic  had  been  snatched  away 
from  her  by  this  new-comer.  "  And,  mamma,  I 
fairly  hate  her.  All  the  nice  girls  go  tagging 
round  after  her  just  because  Clare  has  taken 
her  up." 

"  Well,  child,  be  patient.  It 's  only  a  new 
freak  of  Clare's  for  a  time.  It  will  wear  off. 
You  shall  have  another  party  at  once,  and 
by-and-by  a  little  Saturday  four-o'clock  lunch. 
You  '11  win  them  back :  do  n't  look  so  miserable. 
You  must  be  more  of  a  philosopher,  not  mind 
these  little  changes.  Your  own  position  is  made ; 
you  have  only  to  keep  and  enjoy  it.  There 's 
no  more  sense  in  crying  over  a  lost  playmate 
than  over  spilled  milk." 

"  Clare 's  worth  more  than  that.  You  do  n't 
know  her.  I  wish  I  was  like  her." 


124  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

"  Heaven  forbid !  This  charity  glamour  will 
wear  off,  and  your  friends  be  glad  to  come  back 
to  you.  If  Clare  holds  out  there  are  others  as 
nice,  so  be  cheerful.  I  can't  abide  a  doleful 
face,  you  know.  Stick  to  your  principles ;  it  will 
all  end  right ;  trust  your  mother  for  that.  Now 
take  that  bunch  of  jacqueminots  to  Mrs.  Ellis ; 
she  is  very  fond  of  you  and  she  likes  flowers, 
poor  thing.  You  11  have  time  before  you  go  to 
school." 

With  such  crumbs  of  comfort  Nellie's  soul 
had  to  be  satisfied. 

After  this  Clare  attempted  more  than  once 
to  win  her,  but  was  rudely  repulsed. 

"  When  you  give  up  that  ragamuffin  we  can 
enjoy  each  other,  not  before." 

The  difference  grew  to  more  than  a  childish 
quarrel.  Principles  instilled  into  every  fibre  of 
Clare's  nature  by  her  large-hearted  uncle  were 
assailed  by  this  selfish,  unwise  mother.  And 
so  Nellie's  pretty  face  grew  sullen,  her  delicate 
lips  closed  with  a  firm,  hard  line  not  pleasing  to 
the  view.  Clare's  patient  eyes  irritated  and 
Barbara's  unyielding  good-nature  enraged  her. 
She  was  sure  her  mother  was  right.  It  was 
unfortunate  to  have  been  born  in  a  republican 
country,  with  everything  so  mixed.  Of  course 
she  must  do  nothing,  even  as  a  schoolgirl,  that 
would  ruin  her  prospects  for  life,  and  she  would 


"  INASMUCH.  125 

not  have  anything  to  do  with  that  class  of  peo- 
ple ;  she  never  had,  only  to  try  to  do  them  good 
by  giving  to  their  necessities.  Of  course  she 
was  charitable ;  it  was  a  pleasure  to  give  to 
those  who  were  suffering.  It  was  much  in  the 
spirit  of  throwing  the  poor  dog  a  bone ;  but  no 
loftier  motive  had  been  held  before  her,  and 
with  intense  satisfaction  settling  about  the  saucy 
lines  of  her  mouth  she  contemplated  the  coming 
gay  party.  For  once  she  could  have  her  old 
friends  to  herself ;  and  if  it  was  any  gratification 
to  Miss  Barbara  to  share  in  the  good  time,  she 
would  do  up  a  nice  basket  of  fragments  and 
send  to  her  after  the  fun  was  over.  She  thought 
she  understood  the  meaning  of  a  Christian  spirit 
as  much  as  Clare  Hamlin  did.  It  would  be  a 
good  way  also  to  teach  Barbara  her  place  and 
help  her  to  understand  that  she  could  treat  her 
kindly  though  not  tolerating  her  society.  Of 
course,  as  her  mother  said,  there  were  ways  of 
settling  all  these  social  questions;  happily  she 
had  hit  upon  one. 

The  holidays  were  nearing.  The  term  would 
soon  be  over.  Ettie  proposed  a  contribution  for 
a  gift  of  books  to  Miss  Gray,  she  being  the 
only  teacher  who  had  not  at  some  time  been 
remembered  by  her  classes  in  this  way. 

Nellie  could  share  in  this,  and  with  some 
ostentation  gave  generously,  noticing  with  a 


126  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

perceptible  sneer  the  tiny  coin  Barbara  gleer 
fully  passed  into  the  collection,  as  much  satis- 
faction on  her  lovely  face  as  though  the  sum 
had  been  a  hundred-fold.  In  her  unworldly 
thoughts  they  were  children  of  one  Father,  on 
the  same  plane  —  all  gifts  equally  acceptable, 
even  as  all  His  children  were  alike  beloved. 

The  girls  were  not  all  educated  to  this  stand- 
ard ;  and  when  Clare  put  into  Ettie's  hand  the 
same  amount  that  Barbara  had  given,  but  few 
of  the  girls  understood  the  delicacy  of  the  act. 
Nellie's  secret  thought  was,  "  Clare  has  a  mean 
streak  about  her,  I  am  sure,  for  she  could  give 
more  if  she  wanted  to."  She  turned  away ;  Clare 
followed,  and  slipping  her  arm  within  Nellie's, 
said, 

"  Nell  dear,  we  are  going  to  give  Barbara  a 
surprise  Christmas  eve.  Come  with  us,  will 
you?" 

Ah  she  would  have  liked  a  share  in  their 
merriment.  "  Are  you  all  going  ?" 

"  Yes,  all  who  wish.  Burr  and  Jack  help  us. 
Dot  goes  too.  We  shall  have  a  real  good  time, 
Nellie.  Do  go  with  us." 

"  Way  out  to  that  lonely  old  house  ?"  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  Yes,  it 's  just  a  nice  walk." 

"  I  '11  ask  mamma,"  with  a  show  of  inter- 
est; "she  is  very  charitable.  She  belongs  to 


"INASMUCH.  127 

several  associations  and  expects  me  to  be  lib- 
eral." 

"  Oh,  Nellie,  you  mistake.  This  is  not  char- 
ity. Barbara  would  not  accept  charity." 

"  Why  not,  I  'd  like  to  know  ?" 

"  She  does  n't  need  it.  They  are  perfectly 
independent.  She  would  be  grieved  enough 
should  we  do  it  in  that  spirit.  Her  father  would 
be  indignant  too." 

"  I  do  n't  know  why.  I  thought  such  people 
were  always  glad  to  take  what  they  could  get. 
They  are  poor  enough." 

Clare  flushed,  hesitated,  and  explained :  "  It 
is  like  this,  Nell ;  they  are  certainly  poor,  in  a 
sense,  but  they  have  enough  for  comfort,  and 
would  be  amazed  to  be  thought  objects  of  char- 
ity. And  indeed  they  are  far  from  it ;  but  Bar- 
bara has  only  her  father,  who  can't  understand 
all  she  needs  to  bring  brightness  into  her  life. 
And  her  mother,  sick  so  long,  could  not  help 
her  to  know  what  she  really  ought  to  have ;  so 
we  are  going  to  make  fewer  gifts  among  our- 
selves and  much  simpler,  that  she  may  see  no 
difference,  and  give  the  more  to  her." 

"H'm!  That's  why  you  gave  so  little  for 
Miss  Gray.  Well,  you  are  a  martyr,  and  for 
her." 

"  No,  I  love  to  encourage  and  help  her.  Do 
join  us,  Nellie." 


128  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  What  shall  you  give  her  ?" 

"  Skates :  that  she  may  go  right  along  with 
us  all  winter  and  be  happy.  Mamma  thinks 
that 's  best." 

"  I  '11  tell  you  to-morrow,  Clare." 

"  Uncle  Eric  likes  it." 

"I  suppose  so."  Nellie  did  not  add  that 
according  to  her  mother  the  principal  was  quite 
too  quixotic  in  his  views,  and  a  dangerous  leader 
outside  the  schoolroom. 

It  was  evident  that  if  the  two  parties  were 
to  be  united,  now  was  the  time  for  Nellie  to 
yield.  She  saw  it  dimly  and  was  casting  about 
in  her  young  mind  for  some  common  ground 
whereon  they  could  both  safely  stand. 

While  Clare's  plans  were  maturing,  Barbara 
was  longing  for  the  power  to  show  some  sign 
of  grateful  love  towards  her  friend.  The  lower 
rooms  of  the  old  house  were  bright.  The  father 
had  just  come  in  from  his  day's  work  and  Bar- 
bara was  stepping  from  the  stove  to  the  table 
saying  in  her  high  flute-like  tones, 

"Sit  right  down,  father.  Tea  is  drawing 
and  I  've  got  just  what  you  like,  a  bit  of  tender 
steak  and  baked  potatoes ;  and  look,  these  hot, 
crisp  rolls.  What  could  be  nicer  ?" 

"  Bab,  you  're  a  famous  little  cook,  and  I  'm 
ravenous." 

"  Good !     That 's  delicious.     I  'm  always  so 


"INASMUCH."  129 

glad  to  have  you  hungry,  father."  She  set  the 
hot  juicy  steak  before  him,  brought  the  tiny 
brown  pot  of  tea,  and  folded  reverently  her 
hands  while  he  bowed  his  head  in  thanks  a 
moment. 

"  I  've  good  news,  father.  I  'm  to  make  a 
jump  at  school.  Clare  and  I  and  Ettie  are  to  be 
promoted  next  term,  not  wait  for  the  close  of 
the  year." 

" Good  news  that,  Bab.     How  happens  it?" 

"Well,  it's  more  to  relieve  Miss  Gray,  I 
think,  her  number  is  so  large.  Perhaps  we  do 
stand  just  a  bit  higher.  The  girls  say  so :  but 
they  don't  care.  We  like  Miss  Gray,  but  we  do 
want  to  push  on.  When  I  get  through  I  '11 
keep  house  for  you  ever  so  much  better." 

"  I  'm  satisfied,  Bab.  You  're  a  grand,  good 
fellow  for  a  lonely  old  man  to  have  around. 
Any  more  news?" 

She  was  on  the  floor  with  a  saucer  of  milk 
for  Tabby,  her  only  pet,  but  came  towards  him 
quick  and  eager. 

"  Yes.  The  girls  are  going  to  give  keepsakes 
to  their  friends  Christmas.  Father,  I  do  wish  I 
could  think  of  something  for  Clare.  She  has 
everything  nice.  Could  I,  father?" 

"  I  do  n't  know.  The  money  gets  used  as 
fast  as  it  comes.  How  would  one  of  the  inlaid 
boxes  do  that  your — "  He  could  not  finish ;  his 

What  Olrli  C»n  Do.  Q 


130  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

loss  was  too  recent.  Barbara  understood;  her 
arms  were  round  him  in  a  moment. 

"  They  are  lovely,  father  dearest,  but  never 
mind ;  Clare  knows  I  just  love  her  without  any- 
thing." 

"  Well,  girlie,  I  '11  make  one  for  the  lady's 
gloves ;  you  may  line  it  with  something  nice." 

Barbara  knew  her  father's  meaning.  She 
was  to  take  some  bright  bit  from  her  mother's 
pieces.  He  could  not  talk  freely  yet,  even  to 
her. 

She  looked  the  few  things  over  the  next 
day,  selecting  from  them  a  rich  color  for  lining 
the  box.  It  was  very  beautiful  when  finished 
in  a  variety  of  woods,  inlaid  in  artistic  patterns 
and  polished  highly.  Even  Clare,  with  her  rare 
taste  and  skill,  would  be  proud  to  place  it  among 
more  costly  gifts. 

Bab's  enthusiasm  was  refreshing  to  her  fa- 
ther, and  long  before  the  time  for  its  bestowal 
the  box  was  laid  carefully  away,  to  be  given 
with  loving  simplicity  later. 

Mrs.  Miller  was  willing  her  daughter  should 
contribute  liberally  to  this  poor  girl's  necessities, 
but  to  go  to  the  house  as  a  guest  was  out  of 
the  question.  There  would  be  no  end  to  annoy- 
ances resulting  from  such  a  course.  So  the 
word  came  back  the  following  day.  Half  sor- 
rowfully Nellie  said, 


"INASMUCH."  131 

"Clare,  are  you  all  going  to  that  out-of-the- 
way  place  just  for  a  whim  of  yours?" 

"  No,  Nellie,  we  are  going  to  do  just  as  we 
would  be  done  by.  If  Barbara  had  everything 
and  we  had  nothing,  she  would  do  the  same  for 
us.  You  know,  dear,  '  Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it 
to  one  of  the  least  of  these,  ye  did  it  unto  me,' 
and  it 's  so  precious  to  have  a  part  in  it,  Nellie." 

"  We  can  have  a  part,  Clare,  without  all  this 
familiar  foolery.  I  believe  if  you  were  to  give  a 
grand  reception  you'd  ask  her;  you  just  look 
as  though  you  could  do  it,  Clare  Hamlin." 

"  I  am  sure  it  would  be  impossible  not  to  do 
it.  She 's  too  pure  and  sweet  to  be  despised.  I 
wonder  you  can  feel  so." 

"  I  do  n't  trouble  myself  to  despise  her,  but 
mamma  says  you  will  spoil  her  among  you. 
She  'd  make  a  fair  ladies'  maid ;  she  's  quick 
and  skilful.  But  if  you  fill  her  head  with  ideas 
beyond  her  station,  she  will  certainly  be  unfitted 
for  her  life  of  work." 

"  We  all  expect  a  life  of  work  of  one  kind  or 
another,  I  suppose ;  but  kindness  is  a  help,  not 
a  hindrance.  And,  Nellie,  whatever  her  work 
in  life,  her  position  will  not  be  inferior,  you  may 
be  sure.  Uncle  Eric  thinks  her  niche  will  be 
high.  We  shall  not  need  to  look  down  upon  it. 
We  can't  tell  who  will  toil  the  hardest.  It  may 
be  you  or  I." 


132  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  How  horridly  you  talk,  Clare." 

"I  only  mean  that  change  comes  to  every 
one  and  it  will  come  to  us.  We  don't  know 
when  or  how  or  what.  So  you  wont  go  with 
us?" 

"  If  you  want  money,  Clare,  I  'd  like  to  work 
with  you." 

"  We  want  only  kindness.  This  is  not  work, 
but  a  frolic.  I  'm  sorry,  Nellie." 

She  turned  away.  She  would  win  her  yet. 
Love,  patience,  hope  are  powerful  allies.  Clare's 
face  shone  with  the  glow  of  each  attribute.  She 
could  wait.  She  knew  in  whom  she  trusted. 
She  was  not  working  alone.  How  keenly  she 
felt  that  Nellie  was  yielding  to  the  power  of  sin 
in  treating  with  contempt  one  of  Christ's  be- 
loved disciples.  How  earnestly  and  patiently 
she  longed  to  win  her  to  a  better  spirit. 

Christmas  eve  came,  sharp  and  clear,  with 
stinging  cold;  a  bright  moon  shed  luster  over 
the  city,  pencilling  wavy  silhouettes  of  swaying 
branches  upon  the  pavements,  shining  upon  the 
half  a  dozen  girls  who  were  nearing  Barbara's 
home,  Jack  and  Ettie's  brother  Burr  as  escorts. 

"Are  we  expected,  girls?" 

"  No,  indeed,  Jack ;  it 's  to  be  a  surprise. 
Wont  her  eyes  round  out !" 

"  Good !  I  meant  to  come  empty-handed  ; 
but  mother — you  know  her  ways,  Clare — in- 


"INASMUCH.  133 

sisted  on  sending  this  along.  I  suppose  it  's  all 
right."  Jack's  tone  was  a  little  doubtful. 

"  Your  mother  always  does  just  right,  Jack." 

"  That 's  a  fact.  Burr,  you  're  shirking.  Take 
your  sister's  other  basket ;  see  her  stagger  un- 
der its  weight,  lazy-bones." 

"  Be  quiet,  Jack.  You  11  raise  the  neighbor- 
hood. How  many  pounds  do  you  carry  ?"  Burr 
had  a  basket  strapped  from  his  shoulder  and 
one  in  each  hand.  Indeed  they  were  all  gener- 
ously loaded. 

"Just  lift,  will  you?  My  mother's  a  little 
woman,  but  her  heart's  big  as  ten  of  some  I 
know.  She  11  crowd  more  stuff  into  a  small 
space,  I  tell  you :  the  way  she  ordered  cans  and 
jars  and  things  piled  in  here !  Your  load  is 
nothing  to  it.  I  'm  just  played  out.  Here,  Jip, 
help  your  master."  With  an  uncontrollable  de- 
sire for  fun,  Jack  whistled  his  dog  to  his  side 
and  put  the  handle  of  the  basket  into  his 
mouth. 

It  was  a  failure.  Jip  was  small,  the  basket 
heavy ;  after  making  several  ineffectual  efforts 
to  obey,  pulling  at  it,  whining  and  growling 
over  it,  he  gave  a  meek  wag  of  his  tail,  looked 
pathetically  in  Jack's  face,  and  sat  down  beside 
it.  There  was  a  shout.  How  easy  it  is  for  boys 
and  girls  to  laugh!  How  soon  they  lose  the 
trick  when  youth  is  gone ! 


134  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

"  Oh,  Jack,  let  up  on  the  little  fellow.  He  'd 
do  it  if  he  could.  Come  on." 

"  Yes,  indeed.  Give  it  here,  Jip.  Good  dog ! 
They  '11  all  be  abed  before  we  get  there  if  we 
don't  hurry  up." 

Jip  barked  and  leaped  about  them,  quite  sat- 
isfied at  the  turn  of  affairs. 

A  bright  light  rayed  out  from  beneath  the 
curtains  of  the  windows  as  they  reached  the 
house.  Barbara  was  alone.  Her  father  was 
later  than  usual.  She  thought  he  was  getting 
something  a  little  nice  for  the  morrow.  The 
kettle  hums  on  the  stove ;  the  oven,  door  ajar, 
emits  a  pleasant  odor ;  the  table  is  laid  simply 
for  two;  and  the  clang  of  the  old-fashioned 
knocker  brings  her  to  the  door. 

A  noisy  greeting  salutes  her.  The  light 
shines  in  the  merry  faces.  Bab's  eyes  are  big 
with  wonder.  With  shy  grace  she  bids  them 
enter,  Burr,  Jack,  and  Jip  in  the  rear  with  their 
loads. 

"  Why,  girls !  Why,  girls !"  was  all  she  could 
say. 

"  Boys  too !"  sang  out  Jack. 

"  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  all.  I  wish  I  could 
give  you  all  seats,"  in  a  pretty  embarrassed  way. 
"  I  '11  bring  chairs  from  the  other  room." 

"Never  mind  the  chairs,  Barbara.  Let  the 
girls  take  turns;  plenty  of  chairs — too  many 


"INASMUCH."  135 

guests,  that's  all.  Jip,  under  the  table  with 
you." 

"  We  've  only  come  for  a  few  minutes,  Bab, 
to  leave  a  merry  Christmas  with  you.  You  Ve 
done  so  much,  Miss  Gray  says,  to  help  the  class 
on,  we  want  to  do  something  for  you.  Put  these 
away  for  the  morning ;  they  are  not  half  as  nice 
as  the  lovely  box.  I  shall  keep  it  for  ever.  It 's 
exquisitely  made,  Bab." 

"  I  knew  you  'd  like  it.     I  'm  so  glad." 

"  Clare,  do  sit  down  and  let  me  have  a  fling 
\t  the  hostess,"  cried  Dot,  throwing  a  gray  fur 
about  her  neck  and  putting  the  muff  to  match 
\n  her  hands  with  a  little  shriek. 

"  It 's  very  becoming !    Wont  she  be  stylish !" 

"Are  they  for  me,  Dot  ?  And  you  too,  Etta. 
What  can  I  say  ?" 

"  Do  n't  begin  yet,  Miss  Bab ;  we  're  not  half 
through ;  after  we  go  you  can  take  account  of 
stock.  Give  me  a  chance,  girls.  Burr,  stand 
aside.  These  are  all  to  eat.  You  see  I  judge 
you  by  myself ;  I  have  a  weakness  for  jam  and 
jellies,  pickles  and  sardines ;  and  here  are  some 
of  cook's  Christmas  pies — they're  mighty  nice. 
This  chicken  is  roasted ;  that 's  mother's  idea, 
so  you'd  have  nothing  to  do  but  take  a  ride 
with  me  to-morrow  at  two,  sharp.  We  '11  be 
back  to  dinner.  Will  you  go  ?" 

"  Do  you  really  mean  it,  Jack  ?"- 


136  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

"  Well,  girls,  when  were  any  of  you  so  mod- 
est as  to  question  an  invitation  in  that  style  ?" 

"  Indeed  he  means  it,  Barbara.  Jack  gives 
us  all  an  occasional  ride,"  explained  Clare. 

How  she  flitted  from  one  to  another  in  her 
bright,  birdlike  way,  answering  their  curious 
questions  about  her  housework,  telling  them 
with  childlike  frankness  and  evident  pride  of 
her  ministrations  to  her  father,  of  their  modest, 
careful  mode  of  life :  up  at  the  break  of  day,  and 
with  but  time  to  make  the  early  meal  and  plan 
the  noon  lunch  which  her  father  must  take  and 
the  supper  at  night ;  then,  leaving  the  rooms 
orderly,  off  for  school. 

"  In  the  name  of  goodness,  when  do  you 
study  ?  how  do  you  keep  up  ?"  asked  the  amazed 
Burr. 

"  Oh  but  I  study  evenings  with  father.  He 
helps  me  ;  he  knows  it  all.  We  have  such  nice 
evenings,  don't  we,  father  dear?"  turning  to 
the  door  where  a  man  with  arms  full  stood,  an 
interested  spectator  of  this  unique  scene. 

"These  are  my  schoolmates,  father.  And 
this  is  Clare,"  taking  his  packages.  "  She  likes 
the  box,  oh  so  much.  And  they  are  all  lovely 
girls,  father — and — and  boys  too." 

Never  before  had  these  amused  young  peo- 
ple been  introduced  so  informally.  They  were 
beginning  to  understand  that  there  was  a  cer- 


"INASMUCH."  137 

tain  naivet£  and  grace  about  this  child  of  nature 
as  winning  as  mere  cultivation  of  manner. 

They  saw  a  face  high  above  them,  beaming 
down  with  an  amused  look  upon  the  one  so 
like,  but  brighter  than  his  own,  a  face  marked 
with  proud  self-dependence  and  determination. 
Then  he  turned  upon  Clare  a  penetrating,  kind- 
ly look.  She  at  once  emerged  from  the  group, 
saying, 

"  The  box  is  beautiful,  Mr.  Allen.  It  was  very 
kind  of  you  to  make  it." 

"  Not  so  kind  as  you  have  been  to  my  girl ; 
you  have  made  her  happy ;  and,  young  lady,  a 
blessing  surely  follows  such  an  act." 

He  spoke  low ;  but  they  all  heard  and  com- 
prehended. 

Barbara's  glad  tones  followed  them  as  they 
sent  back  the  last  good-night  and  left  her  to  en- 
joy her  treasures.  Never  had  she  possessed  so 
many. 

"An  umbrella,  father,  from  Etta.  I  never 
had  one  of  my  own  before.  My  name  on  it  too. 
I  will  keep  it  for  Sunday.  And  skates !  Now  I 
shall  learn ;  oh  how  I  long  to  begin !" 

She  bubbled  over  with  delight.  She  had 
never  counted  on  such  wealth  of  possession. 
Her  sweet  spirit  and  sunny  nature  had  never 
felt  the  limitation  of  their  circumstances.  She 
had  not  realized  that  she  was  deprived  of  what 


138  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

others  made  daily  and  lavish  use  of  without 
knowing  their  value,  common  gifts  bestowed 
as  God's  sunshine  is,  flooding  lives  with  sweet- 
ness, unthought  of  until  withdrawn. 

Prayer,  love,  and  hope  and  work  are  golden  grain 
None  sows  in  vain." 


BICYCLE-RIDING.  139 


.      CHAPTER  IX. 

BICYCLE-RIDING. 

Miss  BRAINARD  and  Maggie  had  come  in  for 
a  long  day  with  the  Hamlins.  Letters  had 
reached  her,  which  she  brought,  and  there  was 
much  to  be  talked  over  between  the  sisters. 
The  tidings  were  fairly  good.  The  friends  were 
safe  in  Jacksonville,  the  brother  in  his  usual 
buoyant  spirits,  Lucy  already  refreshed  from 
the  fatigue  of  travel,  satisfied  to  be  once  more 
within  walls  she  could  temporarily  call  home, 
the  boys  excited  and  jubilant.  A  new  world 
had  opened  before  them.  Young  people  delight 
in  change.  Everything  was  now  couleur  de  rose. 
Ned  had  sent  Maggie  a  few  pages  descriptive  of 
the  journey  and  his  impressions  of  the  new 
country.  Of  course  he  was  full  of  enthusiasm. 
He  went  even  so  far  as  to  intimate  that  he 
thought  it  a  streak  of  luck  that  the  old  place  had 
slipped  from  them,  as  it  made  it  possible  to  pro- 
vide another  in  this  delightful  land  of  bird-song, 
flowers,  and  summer  skies.  Such  skies  he  never 
had  seen,  such  wonderful  masses  of  clouds  on 
the  pure,  intense  blue.  He  hoped  she  would 
some  time  see  it  with  her  own  eyes. 


140  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

Maggie  had  a  tender  memory  hidden  away 
of  Ned's  begging  his  aunt  to  allow  the  homeless 
waif  to  share  her  love.  He  had  always  been  a 
hero  to  her  since ;  a  quiet,  peace-loving  boy,  but 
full  of  noble  thoughts  and  generous  impulses, 
one  whose  whole  ambition  was  to  study  medi- 
cine, heal  the  sick,  and  relieve  suffering,  but 
who  readily,  without  any  show  of  the  disappoint- 
ment he  felt,  gave  up  his  cherished  plans  to 
work  with  and  for  his  father. 

For  the  present  Mrs.  Brainard  and  the  two 
younger  children  would  remain  in  Jacksonville, 
while  the  husband  and  Ned  would  go  at  once  to 
Hernando  County,  near  the  Gulf  coast,  where 
his  work  was  to  be — a  large  estate,  made  up  of 
orange-groves  and  other  fruit-farms,  of  which 
he  had  the  control.  He  could  not  tell  until  he 
had  seen  the  place  whether  it  would  be  best  for 
Lucy  to  live  there  during  the  following  summer 
or  not. 

Harry  was  to  be  sent  to  a  good  school  imme- 
diately, it  being  doubtful  about  educational  op- 
portunities farther  south. 

The  letters  were  received  with  varied  com- 
ments. Clarissa's  tone  had  an  anxious  jar  in  it 
that  would  not  be  repressed. 

"  If  they  could  only  all  stay  at  Jacksonville  it 
would  n't  seem  quite  so  foolhardy." 

"The  orange-groves  are  south  of  Jackson- 


BICYCLE-RIDING.  141 

ville,  Clarissa.  If  he  farms  it  he  must  be  among 
them.  He  '11  get  the  family  together  before 
long  though  ;  I  believe  there  are  suitable  means 
of  conveyance  now.  They  could  reach  each 
other  at  any  time  in  an  emergency;  and  for 
Lucy's  first  season  I  should  say  Jacksonville  was 
safer.  But  Harry  '11  move  warily,  never  fear." 

"  I  hope  so,  Edward."  Her  voice  was  almost 
explosive.  She  could  not  make  it  seem  right. 
She  was  silent  and  thoughtful  through  lunch. 
The  chatter  of  the  three  girls  went  on  unno- 
ticed ;  the  brothers  discussed  matters  foreign  to 
the  one  subject  that  absorbed  her ;  Mrs.  Hamlin 
was  laughing  with  Dot  about  something  of  no 
importance;  and  she  herself  was  miles  away, 
following  her  boy  through  pine  forests  and 
sandy  roads  and  unknown  solitudes.  How  dear 
he  was  to  her !  and  through  these  fearful  hard- 
ships she  could  be  of  no  use  to  him  but  to  make 
sure  that  they  had  everything  that  money  could 
procure.  She  had  enough  to  share  with  him, 
and  she  was  thankful  that  she  had,  the  dear  fel- 
low !  "  All  the  boy  I  've  got.  God  preserve 
him  in  that  wilderness !" 

Soon  after  lunch  Barbara  came  in.  Miss 
Brainard  recognized  her  kindly  and  Maggie 
effusively.  Many  a  girlish  frolic  had  they  en- 
joyed together. 

"  Have  some  lunch,  Bab  ?"  asked  Dot.     "  Not 


142  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

a  bit  ?  Well,  take  off  your  things  and  come  up 
stairs  with  us.  We  're  going  to  try  a  new  game." 

Barbara  was  ready  for  any  fun ;  she  was 
Dot's  equal  in  the  matter  of  pure  physical  exer- 
cise. She  made  a  charming  picture  in  her  plain 
dark  suit,  set  off  by  the  gray  furs,  with  a  little 
hat  of  the  same  color,  her  cheeks  blushing  with 
the  frosty  air  and  exercise.  The  matter  of  dress, 
which  she  had  given  no  thought  to  in  her  mo- 
ther's life,  had  transformed  her,  though  still  of 
the  simplest. 

Off  they  went,  and  Clarissa  turned  to  her  sis- 
ter. "  How  is  Allen  doing  ?  Does  Barbara  get 
on  well  at  school  ?  She 's  a  pretty  thing.  They 
were  terribly  poor  when  the  mother  died." 

"They  are  doing  well  now.  Clare  is  very 
fond  of  her.  She 's  bright.  The  two  are  well 
matched,  though  very  unlike.  Eric  is  bent  upon 
taking  them  along  with  him  as  rapidly  as  is  safe. 
Like  a  gardener,  he  plants  all  kinds  of  sweet 
rare  things,  and  just  revels  in  watching  the 
growth.  He  lets  Dot  severely  alone,  and  for 
that  I  feel  grateful.  Sometimes  it  hardly  seems 
as  though  Clare  belonged  to  me,  he  has  such 
power  over  her." 

"  Well,  do  n't  interfere.  He 's  doing  a  grand 
work  for  her.  I  sometimes  see  a  girl  in  what 
you  call  high  social  standing,  with  a  father  ab- 
sorbed in  money-making  and  a  mother  in  spend 


BICYCLE-RIDING.  143 

ing.     I  wonder  that  they  have  the  fragment  of 
a  mind  to  cultivate  or  character  to  form." 

"  Do  n't  be  bitter,  Clarissa.  A  society  girl  is 
not  necessarily  devoid  of  Christian  principle,  as 
you  half  imply." 

"  Well,  Clare  has  the  advantage  of  a  teacher 
in  the  home ;  his  daily  influence  moulds  her  life, 
keeps  her  up  to  a  noble  standard.  It 's  a  great 
help  to  you.  You  'd  hardly  take  so  much  time 
for  outside  matters  with  a  clear  conscience  with- 
out his  help." 

"  Maybe  not.     I  had  not  thought  of  it  so." 

"  Oh  yes,  we  should  have  more  of  the  right 
royal  make  of  girls  among  our  wealthy  class,  if 
each  family  had  an  Uncle  Eric  or  a  more  self- 
sacrificing  mother." 

"  How  strangely  you  put  it,  Clarissa." 

"Ah  well,  it  may  be  a  trifle  sharp,  but  I  have 
plenty  of  time  to  watch  and  think  on  social 
problems." 

"  There  must  have  been  a  rare  brave  soul  in 
the  slender  physique  of  Barbara's  mother.  The 
child  speaks  of  her  with  a  tender  memory ; 
every  thought,  every  word  she  utters,  shows  an 
artlessness  that  wins  us  all." 

.  The  conversation  then  turned  upon  the  sub- 
ject nearest  both  hearts,  the  distant  brother's 
new  life.  They  rejoiced  over  their  first  letters, 
but  were  not  satisfied. 


144  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

"  I  suppose  I  must  be  patient,  but  I  do  want 
to  hear  more.  I  want  to  feel  sure  that  it  will 
eventually  be  a  success,  or  better  still,  we  shall 
have  them  safely  back.  As  Edward  says,  it  may 
not  be  much  farther  off,  but  to  me  it 's  an  un- 
known region,  and  the  bare  possibility  of  their 
need  of  us  at  a  time  when  we  could  not  by  any 
means  get  to  them  chills  me." 

"  You  have  chided  my  want  of  trust,  Clarissa, 
often.  We  must  not  fret  about  him.  I  have 
faith  in  him,  so  strong  he  is,  you  know." 

"Only  One  is  strong,  One  is  mighty.  Our 
faith  must  rest  alone  on  Him." 

"  I  know,  I  do  believe  it,  but  I  forget.  Ed- 
ward thinks  he  will  succeed,  and  has  promised 
to  take  me  there  as  soon  as  they  are  estab- 
lished." 

"  I  shall  go  with  you." 

"  Most  certainly  you  will.  So  pray  do  n't 
look  on  the  dark  side  another  moment.  It  is 
not  like  you,  sister,  to  doubt ;  so  fling  fear  away 
and  let  us  be  happy." 

Eric  Hamlin  in  his  great,  comfortable  loung- 
ing-chair  before  a  glowing  grate,  a  table  covered 
with  books  near,  was  reading.  The  day  had 
gone  well.  Miss  Gray  was  appearing  more  at 
ease,  was  not  embarrassed  by  his  efforts  to 
make  her  class- work  less  burdensome.  She  had 
even  ventured  a  request  in  regard  to  a  certain 


BICYCLE-RIDING.  145 

change  of  hours.  He  was  glad  to  comply.  It  is 
doubtful  if  he  could  have  refused  her  anything 
within  reason.  And  yet  he  was  unconscious 
that  she  held  for  him  any  interest  other  than 
any  faithful  assistant  would  receive. 

As  he  gazed  into  the  red  coals  his  musings 
were  interrupted  by  shouts  of  laughter  over- 
head and  an  unusual  noise,  rolling,  tumbling, 
and  rattling  of  metal  on  the  hard  floor  above 
him.  His  study  was  directly  beneath  the  amuse- 
ment hall,  as  the  great  attic  was  dubbed  by  Dot. 
The  noise  testified  to  a  merry  time  up  there. 
The  chatter  was  inspiring,  the  laughter  conta- 
gious ;  it  was  irresistible.  He  thought  he  would 
go  up  and  see  what  mad  pranks  Miss  Dot  was 
enacting.  He  took  them  unawares.  Barbara 
was  hanging  from  the  trapeze  and  Dot  upon  his 
bicycle,  with  a  girl  each  side  to  steady  her,  try- 
ing to  learn  the  art  of  riding.  As  he  entered 
she  called, 

"  Maggie,  hold  the  horse.  I  'm  well  mounted 
this  time.  Keep  off  the  track,  Clare.  I  'm  sure 
I  can  do  it.  Start  him  a  little,  Maggie,  till  I  get 
my  balance,  and  hold  me  tight." 

"  Dot,  you  '11  break  your  neck  or  the  wheel. 
What  would  uncle  say  ?"  said  Clare. 

"  These  ponies  do  n't  need  to  be  broken, 
Clare.  There  's  uncle !  Oh,  Uncle  Eric,  I  'm 
trying  your  bicycle.  S'pose  I  '11  make  it  go  ?" 

Wh»t  Girls  C»n  Do.  IQ 


146  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

Barbara  dropped  to  the  floor  and  Maggie 
looked  a  trifle  anxious. 

"  No  reason  why  you  should  n't.  Let  me 
help." 

"  Do  help  me ;  I  'm  determined  to  learn." 

"  Bravo,  Dot !"  With  much  persistence  she 
soon  learned  to  steady  herself  and  control  the 
machine  under  his  guidance. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  teach  you  all  to  use  the 
wheel.  It  is  good  exercise  for  you." 

"  That 's  sensible  in  you,  Uncle  Eric.  Now 
let  me  go  alone  and  see  if  I  can  turn  my  fiery 
steed  and  come  back." 

"  Do  n't  be  afraid ;  I  '11  catch  you  if  you 
fall." 

"  I  do  n't  want  to  take  a  header,  if  that 's 
what  you  call  it." 

"  No  chance  with  a  '  safety.'  Now  let  me 
show  you  how  to  stop  and  alight." 

"  Take  me,  take  me,  I  'm  going !" 

As  the  wheel  tipped  she  lost  control,  but  was 
caught  by  her  uncle  and  safely  landed. 

"  Will  you  try,  Clare  ?  Would  you  like  to 
learn  and  have  one  of  your  own  ?" 

"I  do  n't  know.  It  would  be  nice  out  of  the 
city  perhaps,"  a  little  doubtfully. 

"I  would,  uncle;  and  if  Clare  doesn't  dare, 
why  can't  you  take  me?  Do,  Uncle  Eric. 
Would  n't  it  be  grand  sport !  Barbara,  it 's  your 


BICYCLE-RIDING.  147 

turn ;  then  I  '11  try  again.  I  will  learn,  and 
papa  shall  buy  me  a  bicycle." 

At  night  Dot  assailed  her  father. 

"  Papa,  I  want  a  bicycle,  a  girl's  '  safety,'  like 
Uncle  Eric's.  I  'm  going  to  ride  with  him  next 
summer.  We're  going  to  learn  up  stairs  this 
winter  and  be  all  ready  when  the  season  opens. 
Will  you  buy  me  one,  papa  dearest,  right  away  ?" 

"To-night?"  dropping  his  paper  to  contem- 
plate the  sprite. 

"  No,  to-morrow,  though.    Will  you,  papa  ?" 

"  Well,  I  think  that 's  going  a  little  too  far, 
even  for  such  a  flutter-budget  as  you,  pet." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  refuse,  papa?" 

"  I  think  I  must." 

"  Then  you  're  worse  than  an  infidel !" 

"  What !"  from  her  astonished  father  as  she 
flung  both  arms  about  his  neck  and  showered 
kisses  on  his  face. 

"  Dolly  Hamlin,  I  can't  have  you  speak  to 
your  father  in  that  way,"  said  her  mother  with 
unusual  sharpness. 

"  I  can  prove  it,  mamma,  by  the  Bible." 

"  I  can't  allow  it,  Dot." 

"  Let  her  prove  it  if  she  can.  So  you  think 
me  an  infidel,  little  daughter?" 

"  Worse,  papa,  for  I  need  the  exercise  in  the 
open  air.  Uncle  Eric  is  going  to  get  one  for 
Clare,  and  you  know  as  well  as  I  that  the  good 


148  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

Book  says  if  you  don't  provide  for  your  own 
household  you  have  denied  the  faith  and  are 
worse  than  an  infidel.  Haven't  I  proved  it, 
mamma  Hamlin  ?" 

"  It 's  not  respectful,  Dot." 

"Well  shown,  my  girl.     I  '11  look  into  it." 

"Eric,  are  you  going  to  encourage  such 
doings?"  Mrs.  Hamlin  asked. 

"Why  not?  The  girls  would  like  it  im- 
mensely; splendid  exercise  for  them.  Yes,  I 
approve  of  it,  certainly." 

"I  have  seen  what  they  call  tricycles  for 
ladies,"  she  said  thoughtfully. 

"  They  are  adapting  the  '  safety  '  bicycle  to 
girls'  costumes.  I  think  I  shall  get  Clare  one 
for  next  summer;  let  them  learn  up  stairs." 

"I  shouldn't  be  surprised  to  see  you  and 
Clare  taking  a  balloon  ride  any  time,  some  aerial 
trip  among  the  spheres ;  but  I  'm  dumb  as  far  as 
you  are  concerned  in  the  matter  of  education." 

"It  wont  be  long  before  you  will  see  girls 
using  the  new  bicycle  all  through  our  streets; 
and  more,  they  are  beginning  in  England  to 
play  cricket,  as  their  brothers  do.  We  '11  have 
that  here,  too,  soon,  I  hope.  More  of  such  sports 
would  give  a  larger  measure  of  health  among 
our  girls.  There  is  no  reason  why  they  should 
not  take  hold  of  suitable  athletic  games  and 
reap  the  benefit  from  them  which  boys  do." 


BICYCLE-RIDING.  149 

"  I  believe  in  it,  uncle.  I  do  n't  want  always 
to  be  packed  into  a  carriage  when  I  go  any- 
where, like  cats  in  a  basket.  I  think  it 's  time 
we  were  more  independent." 

"  More  independence  for  you  would  be  dan- 
gerous, Dot,"  said  her  mother. 

"  But,  papa,  if  Clare  has  one  can  I  ?" 

"  When  you  can  ride  Clare's  1 11  think  of  it." 

"  I  '11  do  it.  I  never  see  Jack  go  spinning  by 
on  his  that  I  do  n't  wish  I  was  a  boy.  It 's  bet- 
ter than  riding  on  a  pony,  perched  up  sideways, 
as  though  you  were  making  a  ceremonious  call. 
I  'd  like  to  go  galloping  over  the  country  as  that 
lovely  friend  of  yours,  mamma,  did  with  her 
missionary  husband  in  Maui.  Do  you  remem- 
ber? That  was  perfectly  delightful." 

"All  you  need  for  it,  Dot,  is  the  divided  skirt. 
It  would  be  safer,  mamma." 

"Yes,  Clare,  and  it  might  do  in  that  wild 
country,  over  rough  paths  and  among  those 
natives;  but  don't  put  any  more  extravagant 
notions  into  Dot's  head,"  answered  the  mother. 

"  That  dress  will  be  adopted  eventually  for 
exercise  out  of  doors,  and  it  will  be  a  sensible 
change,"  said  the  uncle. 

"And  I'd  like  to  start  the  fashion,  Uncle 
Eric." 

"  I  believe  you,  Dot.  1 11  ride  with  you  any 
time  in  such  a  costume." 


I5O  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"Eric,  I  beg!  She's  hoyden  enough  now. 
Come,  Dot,  go  and  play  something.  I  think  we 
are  getting  along  too  fast ;  I  can't  keep  up  with 
these  progressive  ideas.  I  'm  sure  Dot  has 
plenty  of  exercise ;  she 's  all  motion,  and  what 
more  could  you  ask  ?" 

"  Oh  do  n't  fear,  sister ;  I  '11  leave  you  Dot ; 
I  am  content  with  one  pupil.  And,  Clare,  we  '11 
try  your  '  safety '  within  the  week." 

"Really,  uncle?"  with  animation. 

"  Really,"  he  replied. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  upper  floor  of  the 
Hamlin  mansion  rang  with  the  merriment  of 
the  riders.  It  seemed  to  the  mother  as  though 
the  walls  must  come  down,  but  she  trusted  to 
the  leadership  of  Eric.  Often  they  prevailed 
upon  Barbara  to  join  them,  and  she  too  became 
an  expert.  Before  long  Uncle  Eric  proclaimed 
that  when  the  spring  came  they  would  be  able 
to  make  a  fair  appearance  on  the  road. 

Meantime  Nellie's  select  reception  had  come 
off.  A  costly  new  dress  was  required  for  the 
occasion.  Every  girl  and  boy  seemed  happy  to 
accept  the  invitation  so  daintily  put  forth.  The 
whole  affair  was  carried  out  with  elegance. 
Nellie  was  radiant,  adorned  as  only  the  heiress 
of  great  possessions  could  be.  The  evening 
proved  a  brilliant  success.  The  general  verdict 
was  that  none  could  be  so  charming  as  Nellie 


BICYCLE-RIDING.  1 5 1 

when  she  was  perfectly  satisfied  and  had  every- 
thing her  own  way. 

When  they  met  the  next  morning  she  asked, 
"  Was  it  nice,  girls  ?  Did  you  enjoy  it  ?" 

"  Delightful !  Everything  was  perfect !  What 
a  lovely  dress,  Nell!  That's  the  fun  of  being 
an  only  child ;  there  are  too  many  at  our  house 
for  luxuries." 

"  Shame,  Etta !" 

"Why,  I  didn't  say  which  I  preferred — 
brothers  or  bon-bons,"  laughing  in  her  careless 
fashion,  for  they  all  knew  that  all  of  Etta's 
four  brothers  were  heroes  in  her  opinion. 

"  Clare,  I  've  sent  your  humble  follower  a 
basket  of  cakes  and  things;  we  had  so  much 
left,  and  I  knew  she  never  could  get  such." 

"  Not  Barbara !" 

"  Yes,  of  course.  Mamma  thought  it  was  the 
best  use  we  could  put  them  to ;  they  were  too 
good  to  throw  away." 

"  Nellie,  you  have  n't !"    Clare  was  indignant. 

"  Why,  yes.  John  was  taking  them  as  I  left 
the  house.  Why  not,  pray !"  a  quick  flush  on 
her  cheek. 

"  Pretty  cool,  Nell,  I  should  say,"  from  Etta. 

"  Nellie,  it 's  an  insult.     Can't  you  see  it  ?" 

"  No,  Clare,  I  can't.  I  have  as  much  right  to 
be  charitable  as  you.  Mamma  said  it  was  per- 
fectly proper ;  and  she  '11  be  glad  enough  of 


152  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

them.  Why  there  were  some  whole  loaves,  and 
lots  of  confectionery  and  flowers." 

"  I  'm  sorry,  Nellie.  Can't  you  recall  them  ? 
Bab  is  so  sweet.  She  wont  mind  your  not  invi- 
ting her ;  but  this — " 

"I  —  inviting  her,  indeed!  I  should  think 
not." 

"  Nell !"  exclaimed  Etta,  "  I  'd  get  that  basket 
back  if  I  had  to  foot  it  all  the  way  out  there, 
and  throw  the  contents  into  the  gutter  for  the 
gamins." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  do  n't  know  what  you  both 
mean,  and  I  do  n't  care.  She  '11  eat  them  fast 
enough,  and  be  glad  of  the  chance." 

"  You  are  mistaken.  Would  you  send  such  a 
basket  to  Mrs.  Ellis  or  to  Miss  Gray  ?" 

"  It  's  very  different ;  of  course  not." 

Clare 's  eyes  filled.  What  could  she  do  ? 
Nothing.  Nellie  had  over-reached  her,  and  Bar- 
bara must  suffer.  But  she  knew  nothing  of  it 
yet.  She  met  them  with  her  sunny  smile  and 
bright  greeting,  the  only  undisturbed  one  of  the 
group. 

Whether  it  had  been  Nellie's  intention  to 
wound  or  not,  Clare  could  not  determine.  If 
she  could  only  prevent  the  hurt  from  reaching 
her  little  friend,  if  she  could  delay  the  pain  in 
its  coming  to  that  tender  heart,  she  would  do 
anything.  Should  she  take  Bab  home  with  her 


BICYCLE-RIDING.  153 

to  lunch  ?  But  what  then  ?  Must  that  sensitive 
spirit  be  subjected  to  this  indignity  ?  To  gather 
up  the  pieces  left  and  send  to  such  a  one — as  to 
any  beggar — when  she  would  have  graced  the 
company  as  much  as  any  one  of  them !  Clare 
could  not  and  would  not  bear  it.  She  must  see 
Jack.  There  would  be  no  opportunity  until  the 
close  of  school,  and  then  she  might  miss  him. 
She  would  confide  in  her  uncle — always  the 
safest  thing  to  do. 

She  asked  and  obtained  permission  to  go  to 
his  room,  found  him  alone,  and  told  the  story. 
He  had  never  seen  her  so  moved. 

"She  must  not  know  it,  uncle.  She  must 
not  be  insulted." 

"  No.  Has  the  girl  no  delicacy  ?  Adding  in- 
sult to  injury  with  a  vengeance." 

"  She  knows  better.  We  have  talked  it  all 
over  before.  If  I  can  see  Jack.  I  can  fix  it.  I 
must  try." 

Jack  was  sent  for  and  Clare  confided  her 
trouble  to  him.  "The  little  goose,"  he  said, 
"  doesn't  she  know  any  better  ?'' 

"  No  matter  about  that,  Jack-  I  want  you  to 
go  there  ;  the  basket  will  be  with  the  people  up 
stairs ;  just  ask  for  it,  and  take  it  to  the  orphan 
asylum  for  the  children.  I  '11  take  the  responsi- 
bility." 

"Do  you  dare?" 


154  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

"  I  wont  have  her  insulted.  I  will  dare !" 
She  looked  like  her  Aunt  Clarissa  then. 

"  Good  for  you,  Clare  ;  I  '11  do  it.  It  will  be 
a  gay  old  prank.  Can  I  laugh  with  Barbara 
over  it?" 

"  Not  for  the  world." 

She  returned  to  the  class  with  more  than  her 
usual  gravity.  Miss  Gray  noticed  her  disturbed 
state  and  Nellie  looked  discomfited  and  sullen ; 
but  the  object  of  Clare's  solicitude  was  buried  in 
study,  unconscious  of  the  tumult  being  raised  in 
her  behalf. 

During  intermission  Clare  kept  her  seat, 
apparently  absorbed  in  the  lesson  before  her. 
No  one  disturbed  her ;  and  Nellie,  chagrined  at 
her  disapproval,  made  no  other  boast  of  her 
fragmentary  gift  for  charity's  sake.  If  she  an- 
ticipated a  grateful  acknowledgment  the  fol- 
lowing day  from  Barbara,  she  was  disappointed ; 
not  a  word  of  thanks  from  "  the  little  ingrate,"  to 
show  that  she  had  received  her  bounty. 

At  night  she  poured  her  woes  into  the 
worldly  mother's  ears. 

"  Not  so  much  as  a  thank  you  for  that  great 
basket  of  the  richest  and  best  we  had  left,  and 
heaped  with  those  elegant  flowers  hardly  wilted ! 
That 's  the  way  with  such  people." 

"Why  didn't  you  ask  her  how  she  liked 
them  ?" 


BICYCLE-RIDING.  155 

"Clare  and  Etta  gave  me  such  a  snubbing 
for  it  that  I  wouldn't.  I  wont  have  anything 
to  do  with  her.  Clare  hardly  looks  at  me  now." 

"  No  doubt  they  enjoyed  eating  them,  if  they 
do  n't  know  enough  to  acknowledge  the  benevo- 
lence," remarked  Mrs.  Miller,  as  though  weary 
of  a  subject  so  far  beneath  her. 

"Oh  she  knows  enough.  It  isn't  that.  I 
should  n't  wonder  if  Clare  had  told  her  not  to 
notice  it.  She  seems  fairly  bewitched  by  the 
beggar,  and  Jack  just  toadies  to  them  all  the 
time.  If  you  11  believe  it,  he  took  her  to  ride 
the  other  day !" 

"  That 's  of  no  importance.  The  Ellises  are 
too  old  friends  to  be  influenced  by  one  so  ob- 
scure, and  next  year  Jack  will  be  in  college ; 
then  there  will  be  no  chance  of  their  meeting. 
Take  no  more  notice  of  her ;  you  have  shown 
her  kindness ;  she  chooses  to  ignore  it.  Let  her 
drop." 

"  I  wish  she  would,  mamma,  entirely  out  of 
sight." 

"And  if  Clare  is  disagreeable,  let  her  severely 
alone  until  she  comes  to  her  senses.  That  uncle 
is  making  her  ridiculously  prudish.  I  should 
think  her  mother  would  interfere ;  she  knows 
well  enough  what  society  demands." 

"They  all  know — they  don't  care.  I  like 
Clare." 


156  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

They  were  interrupted ;  a  note  was  handed 
Nellie  and  her  face  grew  scarlet  as  she  read. 

"What  does  it  mean,  mamma?  A  note  of 
thanks  from  the  matron  of  the  Children's  Home, 
saying  they  enjoyed  my  generous  contribution 
of  cake  and  candy,  and  the  flowers  were  wel- 
come to  the  little  ones  in  the  sick  ward.  What 
can  it  mean  ?" 

"  It  means  that  the  little  minx  sent  the 
basket  there  in  your  name  rather  than  take  a 
favor  from  you.  That  caps  the  climax.  Never 
let  me  hear  her  name  again.  Audacious !" 

"  Then  Clare  told  her  to.  1 11  find  out.  1 11 
never  speak  to  her  again  if  it  is  so." 

"  No,  no,  Nellie,  that  wont  do.  They  have 
influence ;  and  Clare  is  too  mild  to  advise  such 
an  unheard-of  impertinence." 

"  I  do  n't  know.  She 's  capable  of  making  a 
martyr  of  herself  for  a  friend,  but  she  would  n't 
be  spiteful.  It 's  that  horrid  little  lump  of  pride 
and  poverty.  1 11  tell  her  what  I  think  of  her 
the  next  time  I  see  her."  And  she  did.  The 
large  dressing-room  of  the  elder  girls  was  the 
scene  of  a  fierce  indignation-meeting  at  noon  of 
the  next  day.  Nellie's  shrill  voice  rang  out  as 
Barbara  entered: 

"Barbara  Allen,  if  you  can't  be  thankful 
for  kindness,  you  need  n't  be  spiteful  and 
mean!" 


BICYCLE-RIDING.  157 

"  I  do  n't  know  what  you  are  talking  about, 
Nellie.  I  have  n't  been  spiteful,  have  I  ?" 

"What  did  you  send  that  basket  to  the 
Home  for  ?  Tell  me  that." 

"  What  basket  ?    I  'm  all  in  the  dark,  Nellie." 

"  Come  here,  Nellie.  Do  n't  say  any  more  to 
her.  It 's  nothing,  Bab.  Let  me  explain.  Take 
Bab  away,  Etta,  do." 

"  You  're  my  prisoner,  Babette."  Etta  laugh- 
ingly drew  the  astonished  girl  away.  She  did 
not  understand  the  mystery,  but  Nell  was 
always  in  a  snarl ;  she  could  trust  Clare  to  ravel 
her  own  tangles. 

And  how  patiently  she  tried  to  do  it :  tried 
to  save  her  little  friend  the  knowledge  of  what 
to  her  seemed  wanton  cruelty,  tried  vainly  to 
win  Nellie  to  a  nobler  spirit,  to  prevail  upon 
her  to  pardon  an  interference  that  was  kindly 
put  forth,  though  she  acknowledged  perhaps 
unwisely. 

"And.  you  did  that,  Clare!" 

"  Bab  knows  nothing  of  it ;  I  could  n't  let  her 
be  hurt." 

"  Hurt !    I  'd  like  to  kill  her." 

"  You  do  n't  know  what  you  say.  Do  forgive 
me  if  I  did  wrong ;  I  meant  it  for  the  best.  I 
love  you  both ;  do  let 's  be  friends,  and  call  it  a 
foolish  little  joke  between  you  and  me  that  we 
will  keep  from  Barbara.  I  'm  sure  it  was  nice 


I  $8  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

for  the  dear  little  waifs  to  have  your  bounty, 
Nellie.  I  thought  they  would  love  you  for  it, 
and  when  you  knew  it  you  would  be  glad. 
Don't  be  angry,  Nellie,  for  I  wouldn't  hurt  you 
any  quicker  than  I  would  Dot." 

"  I  do  n't  believe  you.  I  '11  never  forgive 
you — meddling  with  what  does  n't  concern  you. 
I  shall  tell  the  girl  what  she 's  lost  through 
you." 

"  If  you  do,  Nellie,  I  shall  be  wretched :  to 
have  her  treated  so  !  Nellie,  don't." 

"  I  will ;  I  do  n't  care  for  either  of  you. 
Here,  you  Allen  girl!  See  how  your  friend 
treats  you."  Then  and  there  she  poured  forth 
the  story,  with  such  flashes  of  anger  and  bursts 
of  scorn  that  Barbara  was  well-nigh  petrified. 

"  I  sent  you  a  gift  worth  as  much  as  they 
have  given  you.  She  stole  it  from  you ;  see 
what  a  friend  you  have." 

The  class  were  horrified.  Only  Etta  knew 
what  Clare  was  now  enduring  for  her  friend. 
The  silence  that  followed  the  outburst  was  op- 
pressive. Barbara  looked  from  one  to  another 
like  a  frightened  fawn.  Clare  had  dropped  into 
a  seat,  her  head  in  her  hands,  her  slender  form 
trembling.  It  was  the  impulsive  Etta  broke 
the  silence  with  her  careless  speech. 

"  You  're  making  a  mountain  out  of  a  mole- 
hill. Do  you  think,  Nell,  the  world  wags  just 


BICYCLE-RIDING.  1 59 

for  you  ?  and  no  matter  who  suffers,  as  long  as 
you  do  n't  ?  Clare  meant  all  right ;  she  always 
does — though  what  the  fuss  is  about  I  don't 
know,  more  than  the  man  in  the  moon.  If  the 
rest  of  us  had  more  conscience  we  'd  have  fewer 
fights.  Come,  let's  call  this  particular  fracas 
ended  and  be  friends." 

"  I  want  to  know  if  Barbara  Allen  approves 
of  such  interference." 

Very  slowly  the  knowledge  had  dawned 
upon  Barbara  that  Clare  had  saved  her,  in  some 
unseen  way,  from  Nellie's  unkindness.  She 
looked  fearlessly  into  the  angry  eyes  bent  on 
her.  "  Clare  could  not  do  wrong,  Nellie." 

"  Do  n't  call  me  Nellie.  I  suppose  she  is  your 
saint ;  you  can  worship  her  for  all  I  care ;  but  / 
sent  you  a  gift." 

"Then  Clare  knew  I  couldn't  receive  it." 

"Why  not,  Miss  Pert?" 

"  Because  you  meant  an  insult ;  you  are 
proving  it.  It  is  dreadful  for  us  to  quarrel  so." 
There  was  not  a  shade  of  irritation  in  her  tone. 
She  crossed  the  room  and  hugged  Clare  close 
and  lovingly. 

"  Now  I  hope  the  storm 's  over.  Come,  Nell." 
Etta  drew  her  away. 

Worn  with  passion,  conquered  but  furious, 
she  allowed  herself  to  be  led  into  the  recitation- 
room. 


160  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

That  Barbara  still  must  bear  the  pain  was 
Clare's  most  biting  sting ;  but  she  did  not  know 
yet  the  strong  spirit  within  her  friend,  govern- 
ing the  child  every  moment  of  her  life— the 
native  sweetness  that  made  it  possible  for  her 
to  ignore  injury  and  rise  with  pure  gladness  of 
heart  above  any  base,  tyrannical  act.  Had  Nel- 
lie been  able  to  understand  Barbara's  character, 
she  would  have  bowed  her  head  in  shame  be- 
fore her.  She  never  learned  the  part  Jack  had 
taken  in  the  affair,  and  to  him  Clare  was  silent ; 
he  only  saw  they  were  no  longer  friends. 

Was  it  the  influence  of  Christ's  presence  that 
enabled  Clare  and  Barbara  to  look  upon  Nellie 
with  a  pity  so  tender  and  a  love  so  real  they 
could  only  plead  Christ's  pardoning  grace  to 
purify  the  angry  heart  and  subdue  the  bitter 
spirit?  The  friends  felt  that  only  the  gentle 
Saviour  could  conquer  that  proud  will,  and  to 
him  they  went  with  the  faith  of  little  children. 


NOTHING  VENTURE,  NOTHING  HAVE.        l6l 


CHAPTER   X. 

NOTHING  VENTURE,  NOTHING  HAVE. 

MAGGIE  had  early  broken  the  bonds  of  neg- 
lect and  ignorance  from  -which  Miss  Brain ard 
had  taken  her.  She  had  developed  an  earnest 
nature,  strong,  decisive  characteristics,  with 
ambition  awakened  to  accomplish  something 
more,  that,  with  all  her  reaching,  was  not  to  be 
found  in  this  refined  and  orderly  home. 

She  had  left  the  village  school  behind,  had 
graduated  from  the  academy  near  by,  and  was 
now  longing  for  an  object  in  life,  a  work  to  do ; 
to  be  a  power  for  good  somewhere. 

There  was  no  lack  of  household  stir  at  cer- 
tain seasons,  and  nothing  in  the  home  needing 
to  be  done  but  came  within  her  capacity.  Miss 
Clarissa  had  been  a  faithful  teacher  in  such  ac- 
complishments ;  and  Maggie  was  trusted  as  the 
child  of  the  house. 

She  pondered  the  subject  daily.  Other  girls 
were  pushing  out  into  the  busy  world  from  se- 
cluded lives  that  often  meant  mere  aimless 
dalliance  with  the  years,  until  burdens  suddenly 
came  with  crushing  weight  which  they  were 
not  fit  to  bear.  It  might  be  so  with  her.  She 

What  Ol.  Ii  c»n  Do.  {  j 


162  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

had  no  claim  upon  these  kind  friends.  She 
might,  at  any  moment,  have  to  stand  alone. 
But  it  was  not  selfish  fear  that  moved  her ;  far 
from  that.  It  was  but  looking  out  upon  life 
from  all  points,  that  she  might  be  ready  for 
what  she  must  meet. 

Aunt  Clarissa's  own  practical  instincts  had 
been  grafted  upon  her ;  she  readily  adopted  her 
wise  maxims.  How  often  had  she  heard  her 
insist  upon  "  taking  time  by  the  forelock,"  and 
never  to  "be  left  without  resource."  It  was 
well,  she  had  said,  to  buckle  on  the  harness  in 
youth,  and  stand  on  your  own  feet  and  be  inde- 
pendent ;  "  necessity  is  a  powerful  weapon ;"  she 
"  would  n't  give  a  fig  for  one  who  had  never  felt 
its  spur."  These  sharp,  concise  epigrams,  ut- 
tered in  her  energetic  manner,  had  impressed 
Maggie  more  than  the  spinster  would  have  de- 
sired, had  she  dreamed  of  their  far-reaching  in- 
fluence. 

Nor  was  this  her  whole  motive.  She  dared  to 
think  she  might  be  of  use  in  the  world,  might 
in  some  way  help  to  make  life  bearable,  perhaps 
beautiful,  for  those  who  suffered,  as  she  once 
had.  Ah !  she  could  never  forget  those  years, 
those  bitter  years  of  cold,  hunger,  abuse,  and 
fear,  those  dreadful  years  that  went  back — 
back  to  a  dream.  Was  it  a  dream  ?  How  many 
times  it  had  come  since !  That  vast,  dark  body 


NOTHING  VENTURE,  NOTHING  HAVE.   163 

of  water;  that  swift-sailing  craft;  a  fearful 
storm  ;  the  rolling  and  plunging  of  the  tossing 
vessel ;  the  gulfs  of  darkness ;  the  dizzy  heights ; 
the  awful  fall  into  more  fearful  depths ;  the 
crash,  the  stupor,  the  dread  awakening;  arms 
that  had  unclasped  and  left  her  helpless  in  the 
clutch  of  some  one,  she  could  not  tell  who  or 
where !  Night  after  night  the  scene  had  come 
back  ;  she  had  wakened  to  think  it  all  over,  and 
in  despair  had  said,  "  How  foolish !  It 's  only  a 
dream ;  but  I  wish  I  could  make  out  the  truth." 
Aunt  Clarissa  knew  nothing  of  these  vague 
impressions  that  might  be  but  the  play  of  a 
lively  imagination.  Had  Maggie  talked  more 
freely  with  l*er  of  this  life  of  dreams,  the  spin- 
ster would  have  remembered  a  few  little  under- 
garments, with  the  two  letters  M.  D.  delicately 
worked  upon  them.  Not  much  worn,  evidently 
outgrown,  they  had  been  found  in  a  box  at  the 
place  the  child  had  called  home,  and  brought 
to  Miss  Brainard,  who,  thinking  they  might  be 
a  clew  some  time  to  her  parentage,  had  put  them 
away,  intending  to  show  them  to  her  by-and-by. 
But  it  had  grown  to  be  a  delicate  subject  with 
her ;  she  had  hesitated  at  first,  and  later  shrank 
from  speaking  of  what  she  thought  might  best 
be  forgotten.  Thus  Maggie  had  never  seen  the 
little  garments  that  must  once  have  been  made 
for  her  by  loving  hands. 


164  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

The  very  uncertainty  of  her  position  insisted 
upon  recognition.  There  was  a  power  within 
clamoring  to  be  felt,  a  voice  that  would  be 
heard.  With  all  her  will  she  tried  to  silence  it ; 
but  back  it  came.  She  grew  thoughtful,  and  at 
times  not  happy  as  she  knew  she  ought  to  be. 

Aunt  Clarissa  noticed  it,  and  thought  she 
might  be  pining  for  young  company.  Then  she 
would  bestir  herself  and  pack  her  off  for  a  few 
days  with  her  nieces,  or  send  for  them  to  come 
from  Friday  until  Monday,  to  put  new  life  into 
the  old  house. 

This  was  not  enough  for  Maggie,  delightful 
as  it  was,  and  she  whispered, 

"  Tis  life,  whereof  our  nerves  are  scant, 
....  More  life  and  fuller,  that  I  want." 

It  suddenly  developed  into  speech,  and  she  told 
Aunt  Clarissa  that  she  ought  not  to  live  in  idle 
luxury  when  there  was  so  much  in  life  to  do. 
Would  she  be  willing  for  hef  to  try  her  hand  at 
something  ? 

"  Why,  my  dear  child,  you  work  enough  now ; 
what  more  could  you  do?" 

"  Of  what  use  am  I  here  ?" 

"  Think  of  the  help  you  are  to  me.  I  could  n't 
live  without  you."  -i 

"  Not  live,  auntie  ?  You  used  to  tell  me  to 
take  no  liberties  with  the  truth.  I  don't  do 
much  for  you ;  there  is  n't  much  to  do ;  and  you 


NOTHING  VENTURE,  NOTHING  HAVE.        165 

do  n't  need  me.  I  'm  of  no  real  use,  just  a  fifth 
wheel.  I  feel  shut  away  from  the  workers  in  the 
world." 

"  You  do !  Like  a  toad  in  a  well,  you  can't 
see  the  whole  heavens.  And  pray,  what  would 
you  do  ?  Teach  ?  We  '11  have  a  private  school 
in  the  dining-room  at  once." 

"  No,  no,  auntie !  I  've  no  skill  for  that ;  but  I 
could  use  my  hands.  Clare  can  do  anything 
with  her  pen,  Barbara  with  her  brush,  and  Dot 
could  teach  music,  if  she  must.  If  I  could 
only — "  she  hesitated. 

"Only  what?  Be  a  housekeeper?  You  do 
that  now  exquisitely,  and  I  flatter  myself  this  is 
a  good  school  for  you  to  remain  in.  Better  be 
satisfied,  silly  girl." 

"  I  have  tried,  auntie,  so  long — "  with  a  trem- 
ulous tone. 

"  Well,  out  with  it.    What 's  in  your  mind  ?" 

"  I  want  to  be  a  nurse,  a  real  trained  nurse. 
I  want  to  join  the  spring  class  at  the  hospital. 
I  'm  sure  I  could  do  that,  I  'm  so  strong,  so 
well.  All  girls  are  not  large  and  strong  as  I  am, 
auntie,  and  I  love  to  take  care  of  weak,  helpless 
things,  you  know.  I  could  do  it.  Don't  you 
think  so  ?" 

Miss  Brainard  gazed  at  the  girl  with  eyes 
alert  and  head  erect,  in  profound  astonishment 
at  first ;  then,  as  it  dawned  upon  her,  signs  of 


166  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

approval  appeared  in  her  face ;  her  head  nodded 
assent  more  than  once. 

"  It 's  well  to  gauge  yourself  correctly,  and  I 
believe  you  could.  Yes,  Maggie,  I  believe  you 
would  make  just  as  capable,  self-sacrificing  a 
nurse  as  they  have  ever  turned  out  of  their 
classes." 

"Do  you?  do  you,  auntie?  May  I  try?  Oh 
are  you  willing?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  am.  I  believe  I  shall  be 
proud  of  you.  If  there 's  one  trait  I  admire 
above  another  in  woman,  it 's  capability.  I  think 
you  have  it,  and  plenty  of  common  sense  to  tell 
you  what  you  can't  do,  and  to  be  able  to.  stop 
when  you  reach  the  limit.  Yes,  you  '11  make  a 
good  nurse,  and  I  'm  not  sure  but  I  'd  like  to  be 
your  first  patient."  She  looked  with  entire  sat- 
isfaction upon  the  eager  girl. 

"  Oh,  auntie,  you  precious  woman !  I  hope 
you  11  never  be  sick,  never." 

"  Just  be  translated  without  any  fuss,  h-m." 

"Then  I  can  do  it.  You  are  willing?  Oh 
thank  you,  thank  you !  I  '11  tell  Becky  this  in- 
stant." 

She  danced  out  of  the  room  into  the  pantry, 
startling  the  dame  of  all  work  with  her  jubilant 
exclamations. 

"What's  up  now,  that  you  are  turning  a 
•ummersault  in  an  oyster  shell?  as  miss  says." 


NOTHING  VENTURE,  NOTHING  HAVE.        l6/ 

"  I  'm  going  to  do  it !     I  'm  going  to  do  it !" 

Becky  stood,  inquiringly  smiling,  with  spoon 
in  hand. 

"  Learn  nursing,  Becky.    I  'm  going  to  work." 

"  I  never  yet  saw  you  idle.  You  '11  not  leave 
the  home?"  with  a  searching  glance. 

"  Yes,  Becky,  for  a  little.  I  'm  so  glad !  so 
glad!" 

"  Glad,  ye  are  ?  Ungrateful- !  Take  shame  to 
yourself  to  say  it.  You  '11  be  breaking  the  heart  o* 
miss." 

"  No,  indeed  ;  auntie  's  as  glad  as  I." 

"  It 's  beyond  me  ;  I  'd  die  sooner  than  leave 
her.  But  there 's  a  difference  in  make.  Well,  if 
you  rejoice  to  go,  I  '11  try  and  say  good  riddance ; 
but  it 's  against  nature."  Her  trembling  voice 
brought  Maggie  to  her  senses. 

"Let  me  explain,  Becky.  It's  all  for  the 
best." 

She  told  her  hopes,  desires,  and  plans  in  a 
plain,  straightforward  manner  that  enlightened 
the  good  creature  and  satisfied  her  sense  of  jus- 
tice. 

"  I  Ve  thought  of  it,  Becky,  ever  since  last 
year,  when  we  all  took  flowers  one  Sunday  to 
the  hospital  and  Dot  sang  for  the  patients.  I 
never  heard  her  sing  so  sweetly.  They  seemed 
to  forget  their  pain.  I  talked  with  a  young 
nurse ;  she  was  in  the  children's  ward.  Oh, 


1 68  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

Becky,  the  little  pinched  faces !  your  heart  would 
break  to  see  them.  She  was  smaller  than  I ;  she 
told  me  all  about  her  work.  I  could  do  it.  I  'm 
stronger  than  she,  Becky;  look  at  my  muscle," 
baring  her  arm.  "  She  had  no  such  arm ;  and 
when  I  think  of  those  poor  little  sufferers,  I 
thank  God  for  the  strength  he  has  given  me." 

Becky  gazed  with  admiration  upon  the  splen- 
did proportions  of  the  country  girl. 

"  Yes,  you  could  do  it.  It  will  be  worth  liv- 
ing for,  after  all.  God  speed  you,  child  ;  but  you 
gave  me  a  turn — that  you  did." 

"  Turn  again  then,  Becky.  Come  to  the 
porch.  Oh  how  lovely !  Auntie !  auntie !  look 
out  the  west  window,"  she  called  through  the 
open  door,  and  followed  Becky  outside. 

"I  'm  thinking  heaven  smiles  at  yer  going, 
honey,"  said  the  woman  softly. 

They  looked  beyond  the  meadows,  with  here 
and  there  patches  of  unmelted  snow,  beyond 
the  low  willows  that  lined  the  river  banks, 
across  and  far  over  the  distant  hills,  purple  and 
dim  with  the  coming  twilight,  into  a  sea  of 
blazing  gold  crossed  by  bars  of  vivid  crimson, 
flecked  with  soft  gray  clouds,  all  reflected  in 
the  broad  flowing  river.  They  stood  silently 
until  the  glory  dimmed,  a  rapt  expression  on 
Maggie's  earnest  face.  Becky's  reverent  voice 
broke  the  silence. 


NOTHING  VENTURE,  NOTHING  HAVE.        169 

"  If  it 's  so  beautiful  yon,  what  must  it  be  be- 
yond  yon  ?" 

"  Oh,  Becky  !  if  we  could  only  know !" 

"  Be  patient,  lassie.  In  His  own  time  we 
shall ;  and  if  His  voice  calls  you  to  that  work, 
He  '11  speed  and  bring  you  into  a  large  place. 
Only  trust  Him." 

"Yes,  Becky,"  with  an  accent  of  sweet  hu- 
mility, at  variance  with  her  usual  exultant  ring. 
The  woman  was  keen.  She  saw  the  young  girl's 
spirit  had  been  moved  by  a  voice  higher  than 
her  own,  keyed  as  it  was  upon  a  life  of  trust. 

There  was  no  delay  in  the- matter  of  prepara- 
tion. If  there  was  anything  to  do,  Miss  Clarissa's 
active  energies  were  all  at  work.  The  first  thing 
was  to  make  application ;  the  next  to  be  pre- 
pared for  the  change,  if  accepted.  Maggie 
proved  successful.  She  was  exultant.  And  now 
her  life-work  was  chosen  and  would  soon  begin. 
The  family  approved ;  Uncle  Eric's  "  Well  done, 
Maggie !"  was  commendation  enough  to  bring  a 
flush  of  pleasure  to  her  face. 

Dot  gave  her  uncle  no  peace  until  he  appoint- 
ed the  first  pleasant  Saturday  for  their  ride.  As 
soon  as  the  roads  were  smooth  and  dry  he  prom- 
ised the  trial  trip. 

Dot  had  harried,  cajoled,  and  kissed  her  father 
into  a  willingness  to  purchase  the  tricycle ;  and 
.abounding  as  she  did  in  pleasant  faults,  she 


1 70  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

presented  from  that  moment  her  sweetest  traits 
to  the  family  view. 

"Next  Saturday,  then,  uncle,  we'll  go  way 
out  into  the  country." 

"If  pleasant.  Fix  up  trim  and  taut.  We 
don't  want  any  ribbons  flying.  Follow  Clare's 
example  in  dress,  Dot." 

"The  idea,  Uncle  Eric!  Just  as  though  I 
had  n't  sense.  I  '11  look  like  a  nun,  every  curl 
plastered  tight.  But  oh-h  I  '11  fly  for  once." 

"  Uncle,  can  Jack  go  ?"  asked  Clare. 

"  Of  course ;  he  can  help  you.  Dot  will  need 
me  to  keep  her  within  bounds." 

"  I  '11  run  you  a  race  for  that,  uncle  ;  but  why 
can't  Bab  go  too  ?" 

"  Nothing  to  ride  on.  I  wish  she  could,"  said 
Clare. 

"  Jack  could  hire  a  wheel  for  her ;  the  more 
the  merrier." 

"Splendid!" 

Saturday  morning  could  not  have  been  finer; 
a  clear  sky,  fair  travelling,  and  warm  enough  for 
a  certain  amount  of  exercise  to  make  it  perfect. 
Barbara  was  overjoyed  to  be  included,  and  every 
window  in  the  neighborhood  had  interested  on- 
lookers as  they  gathered  in  front  of  the  Hamlin 
grounds,  mounted,  and  rode  gayly  off. 

They  passed  Barbara's  home  and  the  new 
block  upon  which  her  father  was  at  work. 


NOTHING  VENTURE,  NOTHING  HAVE.        I/I 

"  There  's  father ;  I  '11  whistle,"  and  catching 
up  the  toy  she  blew  a  shrill  note  or  two.  Mr. 
Allen's  face  beamed  with  appreciative  satisfac- 
tion ;  he  waved  his  cap  in  air  as  they  flew  by, 
Bab  leaving  a  glad  smile  with  him. 

On  they  went,  beyond  the  city,  reaching  the 
near  woods  and  taking  an  old  turnpike  road  that 
looked  smooth  and  level,  branching  away  from 
the  more  untravelled  one  that  wound  about  the 
base  of  the  hill,  where  they  often  went  for  flowers. 

"  See  that  horrid-looking  old  woman,  uncle. 
Where  could  she  come  from  ?"  asked  Dot. 

"  The  same  old  body  that  haunts  the  rubbish 
barrels  of  the  school-yard,"  replied  Jack. 

"  I  often  see  her  about  the  city ;  every  one 
who  walks  the  streets  is  familiar  with  the  sight, 
I  judge.  She's  a  character.  I  should  like  to 
know  her  history.  Been  gathering  coals  from 
the  heap  yonder,"  responded  Mr.  Hamlin. 

"  What  a  life,  uncle !     I  pity  her." 

"  Yes,  Clare  ;  it  looks  hard  to  us.  It  may  not 
be  all  misery  to  her,  however." 

"  A  race,  Dot,  a  race !"  Jack  sped  along,  fol- 
lowed closely  by  Dot  and  Bab.  There  was  no 
time  for  sentiment.  They  left  that  for  Uncle 
Eric  and  his  beloved  pupil. 

It  was  a  grand  run  between  the  three.  Dot 
meant  to  be  victorious.  Her  perfect  fearlessness, 
the  buoyant  spring  of  her  nature,  her  ready  con- 


1 72  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

trol  of  every  muscle,  made  this  exercise  an  ex- 
quisite pleasure  from  the  very  first. 

"  Oh  I  could  shout  and  sing !"  she  cried. 

"  What 's  to  hinder  ?"  asked  Jack. 

"  Words,  only  words.  If  I  was  like  Bab  I  'd 
make  them  and  sing  them  from  dawn  to  dark." 

"  Give  her  a  song,  Barbara." 

A  flush  spread  over  Barbara's  face,  a  light 
crept  into  her  brown  eyes ;  she  wheeled  nearer 
Dot's  side  and  half  sung,  half  recited  the  thought 
that  came  with  the  moment : 

"  Into  the  vast  unknown, 

Under  the  morning  skies, 
Out  where  the  diamond  dew 

Thick  on  the  meadow  lies ; 
Fresh,  swift,  and  strong  upborne, 

Like  birds  in  eager  flight, 
On  through  the  fragrant  dawn, 

On  through  the  rosy  light ; 
So  do  our  spirits  soar 

Far  up  and  far  away, 
Into  the  vast  unknown, 

Into  the  promised  day." 

"  Bab,  I  can't  remember,  sing  it  again." 

"  I  could  n't,  Dot."  The  flush  died  away,  the 
enthusiasm  fled,  and  Barbara  checked  her  wheel, 
fell  back,  and  joined  the  others. 

"  Does  she  often  do  that,  Dot?" 

"  Oh,  Jack,  she 's  full  of  it ;  that  is,  when  she 
feels  like  it.  I  wish  her  father  was  rich ;  she 
has  such  a  fine  voice." 


NOTHING  VENTURE,  NOTHING  HAVE.        173 

"  Rich !    He  is." 

Jack  looked  as  though  any  father  ought  to 
be  satisfied  with  such  a  fortune. 

The  strange  figure  which  had  attracted  their 
notice  was  shuffling  along  from  the  hill  road 
towards  the  city.  Not  a  word  or  look  did  she 
vouchsafe  them ;  quickly  she  tramped  into  the 
bustling  thoroughfare,  her  sharp,  black  eyes 
peering  into  every  hole  and  corner,  every  refuse 
barrel  of  odds  and  ends,  her  face  turned  towards 
every  receptacle  for  rubbish  the  city  afforded. 
More  than  once  a  day  the  old  gunny-bag  on  her 
back  was  filled  to  overflowing  with  the  sweep- 
ings of  store  or  house,  and  deposited  in  safety ; 
not  a  box  cover  or  a  yard  of  string,  empty  bottle 
or  unmatched  shoe,  escaped  her.  What  event- 
ually became  of  the  medley  was  a  conjecture. 
Apparently  she  had  no  other  means  of  support. 
Her  garments  were  far  from  comfortable  or  tidy ; 
an  old,  dingy  hood  tied  over  straggling  gray 
locks,  a  shawl,  worn  to  netting,  crossed  in  front 
and  knotted  at  the  back,  shoes  not  always  mates 
and  never  whole,  and  hands  like  claws,  capable 
of  intruding  '^  /where. 

Barbara  had  noticed  her  pass  to  the  ash-heaps 
beyond ;  the  business  men  had  become  accus- 
tomed to  her  bustling  from  one  point  to  another, 
absorbed  and  eager,  as  though  she  had  a  world 
in  herself.  Some  guessed  that  many  a  missing 


174  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

article  had  been  hopelessly  swallowed  by  the 
gaping  sack,  but  as  she  quietly  attended  to  her 
affairs  she  was  unmolested.  If  the  city  protect- 
ors knew  more  of  her  history  they  made  no 
sign.  In  larger  cities  such  characters  were  com- 
mon, but  here  she  was  alone.  She  had  the  field 
to  herself. 

Far  into  the  country  the  riders  went.  Dot 
declared  it  too  lovely  for  words  to  describe,  and 
she  meant  some  day  to  go  to  Aunt  Clarissa's 
and  take  her  by  surprise. 

"  Do  you  think  we  could,  uncle?"  with  a  quick 
bird-like  motion  of  the  head  peculiar  to  her. 

"  Yes,  after  a  little  practice.  It 's  a  fairly  level 
country.  I  could  leave  you  there  for  the  night ; 
to  return  the  same  day  would  be  rather  too 
much." 

"  Let 's  go  Friday,  Clare.  Bab  could  n't  go ; 
but  you  could,  Jack." 

"  Whoop !    Yes.    What  a  scheme  !" 

Jack  knew  it  would  not  fall  through  if  Dot 
took  hold  of  it. 

Their  short  daily  rides  were  eagerly  antici- 
pated. Often  they  halted  at  L-.  Allen's  door, 
one  or  the  other  of  the  sisters  waiting  for  their 
little  friend  to  take  a  turn.  Clare's  pleasure  was 
enhanced  if  Barbara  shared  it.  Their  friend- 
ship was  a  pure  delight  to  both  and  beautiful  to 
those  who  watched  its  growth. 


NOTHING  VENTURE,   NOTHING  HAVE.   *     1/5 

One  day  not  long  after  Miss  Brainard  and 
Maggie  heard  an  unusual  sound  of  prolonged 
whistling  that  drew  them  to  the  door. 

"  What  is  it,  auntie  ?  I  should  think  it  was 
a  collision  if  the  road  was  this  side  of  the 
river.  It's  too  near  for  steam."  She  ran  to 
the  door. 

"It 's  a  party  of  bicycle-riders,  auntie.  Come, 
there  are  ladies !  How  pretty  !  Do  hear  them 
whistle !  They  are  trying  to  make  all  the  noise 
they  can.  Do  look  at  the  neighbors.  They  've 
roused  the  street !" 

"  That 's  Eric,  Maggie ;  I  know  the  cant  of 
his  head." 

"  It  is,  auntie,  it  is !  And  Clare  and  Dot  and 
Jack,  as  I  live,  auntie.  What  a  jollification !" 

"  Run  and  open  the  gate,  child." 

Maggie  bounded  over  the  gravel  walk  un- 
der the  great  swaying  elms,  threw  the  gate  wide 
open,  and  with  a  broad  smile  of  welcome  clapped 
her  hands  with  the  vim  she  put  into  every- 
thing. 

"  This  is  delightful,  Eric.  Jack,  I  'm  glad  to 
see  you.  How  gay  you  look,  girls !  What  pos- 
sessed you?  This  is  unique !  I  like  it !" 

Miss  Brainard  led  them  into  the  house,  Dot 
clinging  to  her. 

"  We  Ve  all  come  to  tea,  auntie.  Clare  and  I 
have  got  to  stay  till  Monday.  Uncle  wont  let 


1/6  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

us  go  back  to-night.  I  could  do  it,  but  I  'd 
rather  stay." 

"  And  I  'd  rather  you  would,  chick.  Ten 
miles  is  a  stretch,  isn't  it,  Eric?" 

"  Not  for  me,  but  plenty  for  the  girls." 

"  I  should  think  so.  You  and  Jack  had  bet- 
ter  spend  the  night  and  start  fresh  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"  No,  Clarissa,  we  11  take  a  bite  with  you  and 
a  quick  run  home  by  moonlight.  Jack  and  Burr 
will  come  up  early  Monday  and  bring  the  girls 
home." 

"  Auntie,  we  Ve  brought  a  devouring  appe- 
tite !  I  'm  starved." 

"  I  think  Becky  can  satisfy  even  you,  pet. 
We  '11  have  supper  soon  ;  meantime  Maggie  will 
get  a  pitcher  of  milk." 

"  Safe  for  Maggie  or  I  shall  take  a  bite  out 
of  her  round  cheek,"  shaking  her  playfully. 

"You  little  cannibal!  let  me  get  it  then 
quickly." 

"  I  '11  go  with  you.  Becky  '11  need  me  to  stir 
her  up." 

Very  soon  they  were  invited  to  do  justice  to 
the  appetizing  dishes  Becky  had  prepared  at 
short  notice.  It  was  a  mystery  to  those  who 
depended  upon  a  neighboring  market  in  such 
an  emergency  to  understand  the  resources  of 
the  country  home  or  the  quick  skill  of  its  head. 


NOTHING  VENTURE,  NOTHING  HAVE.    1 7? 

Dot  made  the  discovery.  Her  curious  eyes  fol- 
lowed Becky  to  the  chicken-coop,  saw  the  dex- 
terous swing  she  gave  the  heads  of  the  fat 
pullets  and  the  rapid  stripping  of  the  feathers, 
the  quick  disjointing  of  the  tender  bones  and 
the  careful  broiling,  exclaiming  when  the  grand 
climax  was  reached, 

"Well,  Becky,  you  did  that  just  splendidly. 
How  good  it  looks  !  I  believe  you  could  manage 
a  bicycle  as  well  as  I  do." 

Becky  shook  with  merriment.  "  The  Lord 
preserve  me.  My  legs  will  do  for  me  this  many 
a  day  yet." 

The  table  was  soon  loaded,  a  great  dish  of 
Saratoga  fries,  crisp  rolls,  hot  coffee,  and  plenty 
of  the  dainties  Aunt  Clarissa  always  kept  on 
hand.  A  merry  hour  followed,  and  just  as  the 
great  round  moon  began  its  journey,  the  gentle, 
men  started  home. 

As  spring  advanced  and  the  last  snow-drift 
melted  and  disappeared,  every  boy  far  and  near 
anticipated  the  coming  of  the  grand  show  of 
the  year.  Already  the  great  flaming  posters 
were  placed  in  every  available  position  to  attract 
attention.  The  grand  menagerie  was  coming. 
About  every  showy  placard  crowds  of  boys  gath- 
ered, eager  for  information,  seriously  studying 
the  enticing  pictures,  delighting  in  the  gor- 

Wlut  OlrlB  c»n  Do.  I  2 


178  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

geous  golden  boat  representing  Cleopatra  float- 
ing on  the  Nile,  or  envying  the  wonderful  dri- 
ver of  the  forty  prancing  horses,  absorbed  in 
the  animals  from  all  parts  of  the  world — the 
massive  elephant,  the  giraffe,  the  zebra,  lions, 
tigers,  and  monkeys  all  making  for  the  school- 
boy a  delightful  lesson  in  natural  history. 

The  whole  city  was  astir.  Schools  were  to 
be  dismissed;  each  and  all  determined  to  get 
every  atom  of  pleasure  from  the  first  coming 
of  this  wonderful  show  through  all  its  many 
phases,  its  entrance  into  the  city,  its  famous 
street  parade,  its  performances,  even  to  the  last 
packing  of  tents  and  the  midnight  departure. 
Then  the  scenes  that  should  be  reenacted  on 
many  a  playground,  the  blissful  glory  of  the 
average  boy,  the  terror  of  the  over-anxious  mo- 
thers !  Jack,  Burr,  and  his  two  younger  brothers 
were  early  on  the  spot.  The  youngest  and  dear- 
est, Etta  said,  must  be  satisfied  to  watch  the 
parade  from  the  window.  Hale  was  six  years 
old,  a  handsome  little  fellow,  quick  as  a  flash, 
ready  of  speech,  having  had  his  wits  sharpened 
upon  those  of  his  lively  brothers  and  the  free- 
spoken  Etta. 

"  I  '11  take  Hale  with  me,  mother.  I  'm  go- 
ing to  Nellie's ;  she  has  her  little  cousin  May 
there.  He  '11  have  a  nice  time  with  her,  watch- 
ing the  parade  from  the  balcony,  and  for  one 


NOTHING  VENTURE,  NOTHING  HAVE.    179 

day  you  '11  get  a  good  rest  from  the  noise  of  us 
all." 

The  girls  were  still  friendly.  Etta  was  not 
easily  shaken  off ;  and  after  the  first  passion 
Nellie  was  glad  to  have  one  schoolmate  in 
whom  she  could  confide,  even  if  she  did  not 
receive  the  sympathy  she  looked  for. 

Other  friends  flocked  to  the  house  and  the 
two  little  ones  were  given  a  corner  of  the  bal- 
cony, and  after  a  while  they  became  absorbed  in 
a  box  of  toys,  making  no  trouble  for  the  girls 
chatting  together  in  one  and  another  room  of 
the  elegant  home.  They  noticed  the  children 
enough  to  see  they  were  happy. 

The  grand  car  with  its  gorgeous  trappings 
was  coming  and  the  street  was  soon  filled  with 
spectators.  Every  boy  in  the  city  tramped 
within  sight  of  the  brilliant  spectacle ;  every 
foot  of  pavement  was  covered  by  the  moving 
crowd,  every  window  near  filled  with  bright, 
gay  faces. 

"  Is  it  nice,  Hale  ?"  Etta  asked. 

"  Oh  my,  sister !    Just  look !" 

She  was  satisfied.  He  was  happy.  With  a 
pat  and  smile  she  turned  away  and  became 
absorbed  in  the  bright  chatter  of  the  gay  girls. 
Little  May's  mother  below  with  Mrs.  Miller  had 
no  anxiety ;  Nellie  was  fond  of  her  cousin  and 
watched  her  patiently  and  lovingly. 


ISO  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

They  crouched  in  their  cosey  corner,  look- 
ing through  the  curved  bars  of  the  railing,  hand 
in  hand,  eyes  wide  with  wonder,  until  the  last 
object  of  the  scene  passed  from  view. 

"Come,  May,  I  want  to  see  more,  don't 
you?" 

"  Yes,  more  too." 

"  Well,  come  on.  I  know  the  way  out.  Let 's 
go  to  the  gate  ;  come." 

They  sped  through  the  window  and  room 
beyond,  over  the  stairs,  and  through  a  side  door 
leading  to  the  gate.  Once  on  the  walk,  curiosity 
was  irresistible.  Hale  held  the  child's  hand 
and  drew  her  to  the  corner  and  on  farther  and 
farther  after  the  inspiring  music.  They  laughed 
gleefully,  delighted  with  this  strange,  new  free- 
dom. And  on  they  went  until  the  many  turns 
had  bewildered  Hale.  He  was  lost. 

But  what  a  glorious  time  they  were  having ! 
How  the  fresh  air  blew  May's  curls  over  her 
eyes.  How  bravely  Hale  drew  her  across  the 
streets,  sometimes  under  the  very  nose  of  a  lum- 
bering horse.  How  they  laughed  and  frolicked, 
making  friends  with  every  dog  that  passed 
them. 

But  oh !  that  dreadful  day  to  Etta  and  Nellie, 
by  whom  the  two  children  were  soon  missed 
and  sought  for  in  vain.  No  tongue  could  por- 
tray Etta's  terror.  She  dared  not  go  home. 


NOTHING  VENTURE,  NOTHING  HAVE.    l8l 

For  hours  she  flew  from  street  to  street  with 
Nellie,  while  Mrs.  Miller  with  May's  mother 
scoured  the  city  in  the  carriage.  Detectives 
were  employed,  every  available  help  made  use 
of,  and  at  last  in  utter  despair  Nellie  went  home 
and  Etta  sought  her  father. 

He  was  not  always  a  patient  man. 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  to  me  at  once?" 

"  Don't,  father  !     I  can't  bear  it." 

She  was  shaking  as  with  ague,  her  very  lips 
white  with  fear  and  weariness,  her  tearless  eyes 
looking  into  his  with  pleading  agony.  He  saw 
that  she  was  suffering. 

"  There,  there,  do  n't  fret  so,  Ettie.  They  '11 
be  found  easily,  no  doubt.  I  '11  go  to  the  police, 
then  to  the  menagerie,  and  you  go  home.  Upon 
my  word,  but  Hale 's  beginning  early.  Tell  mo- 
ther carefully.  No  need  to  worry.  I  '11  find 
them." 

The  reaction  came  ;  her  terrible  burden  had 
fallen  upon  one  better  able  to  lift  it,  and  taking 
a  car  she  was  soon  in  her  mother's  presence. 

How  they  endured  the  following  hours  they 
never  knew.  To  Etta  it  was  a  blank.  She  was 
unnerved  ;  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  lost 
consciousness,  and  it  was  well  for  the  mother  to 
have  some  one  to  care  for  and  think  of  beside  her 
lost  boy.  Ettie  had  been  a  loving,  patient  sister 
to  the  four  brothers :  Burr,  two  years  older,  Wai- 


1 82  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

lace  and  Robin  her  playfellows,  and  the  "  baby," 
a  pet  name  which  disgusted  him  at  all  hours  but 
bedtime,  when  his  delight  was  to  be  held  and 
rocked  by  his  admiring  ^sister  until  her  impossi- 
ble tales  sent  him  happy  into  dreamland.  Would 
she  ever  again  have  him  in  her  arms  ?  Would 
that  loved  voice  with  its  clear,  high  ring  ever 
again  ask  for  one  more  story,  "  About  bears  this 
time,  sister  "  ?  Had  her  tales  of  animal  life  helped 
to  draw  him  off?  Would  he  ever  be  found? 
Who  could  harm  the  sweet,  brave  boy?  How 
could  her  father  find  him  in  that  throng  of  peo- 
ple? And  if  they  should  be  trampled!  "Oh  ! 
dear  God,  help  us !"  she  cried  at  last,  throwing 
herself  on  her  knees  and  burying  her  face  in  her 
mother's  lap. 

It  was  late  before  the  father  came.  He  had 
found  Burr  and  Jack.  They  were  still  searching. 
The  police  were  watching  every  person  connected 
with  the  great  show.  Every  train  leaving  the 
city  was  inspected.  Mr.  Miller  and  Etta's  father 
consulted,  offered  rewards,  never  ceased  their 
efforts  until  the  night  was  spent.  The  mothers 
agonized  and  prayed,  but  no  tidings  reached 
them  that  night. 

Jack  stopped  at  Mr.  Hamlin's,  leaving  his 
reasons  for  absence  from  his  classes  and  giving 
them  the  painful  tidings  of  unsuccessful  search. 
Then  with  his  pony  and  Burr  he  would  scour 


NOTHING  VENTURE,  NOTHING  HAVE.    183 

the  country  round  until  the  children  were 
found. 

Etta  gave  up  at  last.  Hope  had  died.  Clare 
begged  to  see  her,  but  found  no  words  could 
comfort  or  help. 

The  next  morning  dawned  brightly.  As 
usual  Barbara  was  up  with  the  sun ;  her  morning 
duties  accomplished,  the  simple  breakfast  over, 
her  blithe  voice  rang  out  in  a  joyous  strain  as 
she  hurried  the  work  that  an  hour  might  be 
gained  for  the  woods.  The  earliest  blossoms 
tempted  her.  She  knew  just  where  to  find  them, 
and  with  her  basket  she  started,  gained  the  lane 
by  a  short  cut,  and  reached  the  woods. 

She  went  aside  from  the  usual  path,  lured  on 
by  the  flowers  that  seemed  to  have  sprung  up  in  a 
night,  and  before  she  was  aware  she  was  close 
to  the  river — in  quite  another  part  of  the  city 
and  far  from  her  home.  Miserable  huts  clus- 
tered upon  the  flats,  and  beyond  them  the  rail- 
road with  its  smoke  and  din  confused  her.  It 
would  be  too  far  to  return  the  way  she  had  come ; 
she  would  certainly  be  late  for  school.  The 
quickest  way  would  be  to  go  through  this  dirty 
settlement  and  find  the  nearest  point  for  home. 
It  was  still  early ;  a  few  Italian  venders  were 
starting  for  the  day's  work.  They  threw  sharp 
glances  towards  her,  but  she  pushed  on  over  the 
uneven  ground.  Another  cluster  of  huts,  near 


1 84  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

the  railroad,  farther  from  the  river,  caught  her 
eye.  As  she  drew  near  a  sharp  cry  startled  her. 
It  came  from  the  farthest  shanty  : 

"  Mamma,  mamma !  Take  me  home  !  Mam- 
ma!" 

Surely  she  knew  that  voice !  What  impulse 
made  her  bound  over  the  ties,  boards,  and  debris 
until  she  gained  the  door  of  the  old  hut  and  with 
all  her  force  pushed  it  open  and  rushed  in  ?  An 
angel  of  mercy  must  have  guided  her  fearless 
steps. 

An  old  rag-picker,  awakened  by  the  child's 
cries,  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  filthy-looking 
mattress,  her  sharp  eyes  fixed  upon  the  terrified 
boy.  A  little  girl  was  just  rousing  from  sleep 
beside  her. 

"  Why,  Hale  !     How  came  you  here  ?" 

"  Barby,  Barby !"  he  shrieked  and  flew  into 
her  arms,  clasping  her  with  frantic  strength. 

"  How  came  he  here  ?"  She  looked  at  the 
woman  fearlessly,  hideous  as  she  appeared. 

"  The  brats  were  lost.  I  lugged  'em  here. 
What  could  I  do?  leave  'em  in  the  street? 
They  've  had  no  hurt." 

"  Who  is  the  little  girl,  Hale  ?" 

He  was  sobbing  convulsively ;  he  could  not 
speak. 

",Poor  baby,  don't  cry  so !  Barby  will  take 
you  home.  Been  here  all  night?  What  must 


NOTHING  VENTURE,   NOTHING  HAVE.        185 

they  have  suffered !  Have  you  been  good  to 
them  ?  His  father  will  reward  you  if  you  have." 

"  Good  ?  Yes,  very  good.  He  did  not  cry  till 
now.  I  suppose  he's  hungry,  a  little.  I  take 
good  care  of  them.  Nice  girl  this." 

"  Who  is  the  little  girl,  Hale  ?  Did  she  come 
with  you  ?" 

"  Yes.  We  went  to  see  the  el'phant.  It 's 
May.  The  woman  made  us  come.  Oh,  Barby, 
take  me  home." 

"  I  will,  darling.  Barby  will  take  you  and 
May  too.  Come  right  along ;  come  to  Barby 's 
house  and  get  some  milk ;  then  we  '11  get  in  the 
cars  and  go  to  mamma."  She  wiped  his  tears, 
smoothed  the  tangled  curls  of  the  little  girl,  who 
was  hardly  awake,  and  told  the  woman  her 
friends  would  certainly  reward  her,  then  took 
a  hand  of  each  and  led  them  up  the  rough  way 
to  the  winding,  dewy  road.  The  eyes  that  fol- 
lowed her  glittered  with  avarice,  but  Barbara  saw 
no  reason  to  distrust  her. 

She  laughed  with  the  children  and  ran  along 
the  roadway  merrily  until  the  boy's  heart  grew 
lighter.  Reaching  at  length  her  own  home,  she 
waited  long  enough  to  refresh  them  with  a  tum- 
bler of  milk.  Then  getting  into  a  car  she  went 
to  Etta's. 

The  boy  shrieked  with  an  overflow  of  joy  as  he 
found  his  mother's  and  sister's  arms  clasping  him. 


1 86  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

"  My  precious  boy !  My  baby !"  exclaimed 
Etta's  mother.  "  I  must  take  May  at  once.  Oh, 
Hale !" 

"  I  will  take  her,  Etta.  Where  to  ?  The  dar- 
ling hasn't  whimpered." 

"  Pooh !  she  's  too  sleepy,"  said  Hale.  "  She 's 
only  a  girl.  Her  feet  would  n't  go.  The  horrid 
old  woman  had  to  carry  her.  She  said  we  were 
coming  home." 

The  mother  could  not  speak.  She  folded 
Barbara  tightly  in  her  arms  and  with  quivering 
lips  pointed  to  the  little  girl.  She  knew  the 
agony  of  the  other  mother. 

"  I  wish  you  would,  dear  Babette.  She 's  Nel- 
lie's little  cousin  ;  only  a  few  steps,  and  they  are 
suffering." 

She  went  at  once,  stopped  at  the  door  long 
enough  to  explain  to  Mr.  Miller,  who  had  been 
up  all  night,  and  turned  to  leave. 

"  Come  in,  come  in  and  tell  my  wife,  and  let 
us  know  to  whom  we  are  indebted." 

"  I  have  told  you  all,  Mr.  Miller.  Excuse  me, 
I  must  go  to  school.  Nellie  knows  me.  I  am 
Barbara  Allen." 

"  Barbara  Allen,  yes,  a  friend  of  Nellie's. 
I  've  heard  the  name.  You  're  a  brave  girl  to 
beard  the  lion  in  his  den.  Upon  my  word,  it  was 
well  done ;  the  reward  is  yours,  and  our  thanks 
beside." 


NOTHING  VENTURE,  NOTHING  HAVE.        l8/ 

"No,  no,  I  have  done  nothing.  It  was  the 
woman  who  found  them.  I  will  accept  nothing, 
Mr.  Miller.  I  am  too  happy  to  have  brought 
them  home." 

He  explained  to  his  wife  and  daughter  and 
little  May's  mother,  who  was  exhausted  with 
grief. 

"  A  beautiful  girl,  Nellie,  a  friend  of  yours, 
Barbara  Allen,  found  her." 

"  Papa !  Barbara  Allen !" 

"Yes,  a  royal  nature.  How  it  shone  out 
when  she  said  she  would  accept  nothing.  I 
felt  as  though  I  had  wronged  her  to  speak 
of  reward.  I  'm  glad  you  have  such  a  friend, 
Nell." 

Something  was  given  the  woman  that  more 
than  satisfied  her.  The  police  were  doubtful 
about  her  object,  but  as  the  children  had  received 
no  harm,  she  was  allowed  to  go  her  way  unmo- 
lested. 

Nellie  had  the  grace  to  give  Barbara  a  few 
words  of  gushing  thanks  when  they  met,  but  not 
her  companionship.  Ah  no,  she  could  not  quite 
descend  to  that. 

Etta's  noble  nature  bestowed  upon  her 
humble  friend  the  grateful  love  of  a  whole  life. 
Nothing  could  exceed  the  gratitude  of  the 
family. 


1 88  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

LIFE  AT  THE   SOUTH. 

OUR  pioneers  had  passed  safely  the  hottest 
months  of  their  first  year  in  Florida.  Mrs. 
Brainard  with  the  younger  children  was  still  in 
Jacksonville,  while  her  husband  and  Ned  were 
carrying  on  the  work  bravely  that  was  eventu- 
ally to  give  them  all  a  home  together.  The  pro- 
prietor of  the  estate  they  were  working  was 
abundantly  satisfied  with  their  success,  and  they 
anticipated  the  labor  of  another  year  with  re- 
newed courage. 

The  lonely  life  was  depressing  to  both.  The 
midday  heat  was  at  first  to  Ned  almost  unbear- 
able. During  this  season  of  acclimatizing  his 
discomforts  were  magnified.  He  had  never 
dreamed  of  insect  life  in  such  profusion.  He 
said,  "  Between  red-bugs  and  bed-bugs,  mosqui- 
toes and  sand-flies,  gnats  and  jiggers,  life  is  a 
torment." 

The  more  patient  father  laughed  him  speed- 
ily back  to  good-nature,  but  he  declared  the  pests 
were  too  much  for  him.  More  agreeable  were 
the  moths  and  butterflies  that  abounded  in  the 
brightest  colors  and  most  fanciful  markings. 


LIFE  AT  THE   SOUTH.  1 89 

This  first  summer  was  wearily  long.  He  en- 
vied  the  light-hearted  negro  who  worked  so 
cheerily  beneath  the  powerful  rays  of  the  sun, 
whose  jolly  song  and  rollicking  laugh  could  be 
heard  any  time  in  the  day.  The  temperature, 
high  by  day  and  cooler  at  night,  so  inspiring  to 
those  dark  children  of  the  South,  proved  during 
the  hottest  weeks  too  much  for  his  courage  and 
vigor.  He  must  give  up  his  Northern  habits  of 
constant  and  steady  exercise  and  follow  those  of 
the  people  he  was  among,  who  labor  comforta- 
bly early  and  late,  enjoying  mid-day  as  the  hour 
of  the  siesta. 

He  missed  his  mother  and  all  the  sweet  com- 
panionships of  the  North.  The  arrival  of  the 
evening  mail  was  their  brightest  hour  of  the 
twenty-four.  He  watched  eagerly  for  the  young 
negro,  who  would  gallop  up  to  the  porch  in  mad 
fashion,  fling  himself  from  the  bare-back  horse, 
and  with  a  sympathetic  grin  fling  the  bag  of  let- 
ters at  their  feet. 

"  Mighty  heaby  mail  done  bring  dis  time. 
Reckon  massa  hab  good  news  sho  now." 

"  All  right,  Pete.  Thanks.  Take  good  care 
of  the  pony  and  get  your  supper." 

"  Yessir."  With  a  fling  he  was  on  the  ani- 
mal again  and  off  to  the  negro  quarters,  from 
whence  the  sound  of  laugh  and  song  reached 
them  until  the  time  for  sleep. 


WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

There  was  for  sale  near  this  place  a  snug  plot 
of  partly  cultivated  land  which  father  and  son 
had  thought  of  as  a  possible  home  for  the  family. 
There  was  around  the  buildings  what  was  called 
an  old  cracker  grove,  made  up  of  a  few  very 
choice  varieties  of  native  sweet  orange  and  some 
of  the  bitter  orange,  with  a  few  budded  trees. 
There  were  guavas  in  plenty,  and  in  one  corner 
a  group  of  cocoanuts,  their  stipes  surmounted  by 
a  crown  of  graceful  tapering  leaves  outlined 
against  the  sky.  Ned  thought  some  ambitious 
householder  had  made  plans  that  he  failed  to 
carry  out.  A  medley  of  other  fruits  were  doing 
as  well  as  they  could  with  no  care,  the  more  vig- 
orous, by  pushing  and  crowding,  killing  off  the 
feebler  stock.  Ned  longed  to  take  hold  of  the 
little  place  and  bring  order  out  of  chaos. 

A  long  one-story  shanty  faced  the  lake,  some 
distance  from  it  and  with  a  gradual  rise  of  sev- 
eral feet.  It  had  a  rough,  uncultivated  look,  but 
presented  to  Ned  just  the  one  available  spot  to 
harbor  his  precious  mother.  He  knew  it  could 
be  made  habitable,  and  was  she  not  pleading  in 
every  letter  to  be  allowed  to  share  their  discom- 
forts, privation,  and  labor?  At  last  she  wrote 
that  she  was  almost  tempted  to  come  without 
notice  and  take  them  by  surprise. 

By  his  own  unutterable  longings  the  boy 
knew  his  mother's  heart,  and  that  evening,  as 


LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH.  19! 

they  turned  over  the  mail-bag  together  on  the 
porch,  with  the  short,  glorious  sunset  flooding 
them,  he  exclaimed  almost  irritably, 

"  I  do  n't  believe  it 's  hotter  here  than  on  that 
river,  father !  We  have  the  lakes  all  round  us 
and  a  strong  gulf  breeze.  I  wish  they  could 
come  now.  It 's  two-thirds  of  a  year  already." 

"  I  know.  If  I  had  a  home  I  would  not  wait 
a  day.  There's  no  prettier  spot  than  that  de- 
serted place,  Ned,  by  the  lake.  I  could  get  it 
for  a  song,  if  I  thought  she  'd  be  happy." 

"  Happy !  She 's  not  happy  now  way  off 
there.  She  'd  call  it  blissful.  We  've  got  to  stay. 
I  'm  sure  we  've  had  enough  of  native  society. 
I  could  endure  everything  with  her." 

"  I  want  to  do  my  best  for  her,  my  boy." 

"  Of  course.  So  do  I.  And  I  think  we  could 
make  a  little  paradise  of  this  place.  There  are 
trees  enough  to  make  a  fine  start  now.  Put  a 
few  sweet  buds  into  some  of  those  sour  trees 
and  in  three  or  four  years  your  crop  is  sure. 
Then  those  old  limes  are  worth  all  they  'd  ask 
for  the  whole.  I  've  lived  on  them  all  summer. 
And  look  at  the  guavas  and  lemons ;  think  what 
they  'd  come  to  with  decent  care.  The  whole 
thing  is  running  to  waste.  It  would  pay  to  buy 
it  if  we  only  stayed  five  years.  Oh,  father,  let 's 
do  it  and  send  for  mother!  I  want  her."  His 
voice  trembled. 


192  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

"  So  do  I,  Ned.  Well,  I  must  have  one  night 
to  think  it  over." 

"That  sounds  like  Aunt  Clarissa.  Soon  as 
you  decide  I  '11  set  to  work.  Give  me  two  able- 
bodied  boys  and  I  '11  turn  things  inside  out  in  a 
jiffy." 

"  Slow,  Ned,  slow.     Summer  has  n't  left  yet." 

"  Long  enough  about  it.  Guess  I  '11  take  a 
look  at  the  shanty,  father,  and  make  my  plans. 
I  don't  believe  you  '11  go  back  on  me  now." 

With  a  spring  and  a  bound  he  was  out  of 
sight  in  the  midst  of  tropical  verdure  and  bloom. 
There  was  time  but  for  a  brief  look  before  the 
short  twilight  paled  into  sudden  darkness.  After 
a  plunge  into  the  lake,  as  his  habit  was,  he  was 
soon  dreaming  of  the  glad  reunion. 

If  it  had  been  a  tedious  summer  for  the 
workers,  it  had  been  no  less  dreary  for  the  one 
who  waited.  It  seemed  to  her  those  torrid 
months  would  never  drag  their  weary  length 
along.  The  almost  daily  showers  were  some 
compensation.  She  watched  for  the  first  breath 
that  scattered  the  shafts  of  fierce  heat  and  roused 
the  almost  pulseless  stillness  of  midday  into  ac- 
tion. The  first  whispers  among  the  tall  pines 
that  told  of  the  approach  of  the  welcome  daily 
visitant  she  heeded,  and  loved  to  swing  idly  in 
the  hammock  watching  the  wonderful  cloud- 
pictures,  varying  every  moment,  that  covered 


LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH.  193 

the  heavens.  Sometimes  it  looked  to  her  like 
a  great  battlefield,  with  armies  marshalled  in 
grand  array,  immense  forces  drawn  up  for  bat- 
tle or  scattered  and  flying  in  confused  disorder. 
She  had  never  before  seen  such  skies,  such 
clouds. 

But  after  all  the  strangeness  would  not  wear 
off ;  she  missed  the  two  so  far  away,  so  seldom 
seen.  A  few  new  friends  were  kind,  though 
none  could  fill  her  life  but  the  absent  ones  ;  and 
should  harm  come  to  them,  should  they  be  taken 
from  her,  all  brightness  would  be  blotted  out 
for  ever.  She  would  undergo  any  hardship, 
make  any  sacrifice,  to  be  with  them  again. 

Early  in  youth  she  had  lost  her  parents  and 
an  only  brother.  After  years  of  a  lonely,  un- 
cared-for life  she  had  married.  Since  then  her 
days  had  been  crowned  with  the  highest  happi- 
ness. This  was  her  first  trial.  She  thought  it 
had  lasted  long.  She  was  almost  as  impatient 
as  Ned ;  and  even  as  she  wearied  herself  with 
complaints  the  t;dings  she  longed  for  were  on 
the  way.  A  letter  from  the  North,  with  a  check 
inclosed  for  immediate  use,  reached  her.  Cla- 
rissa ur£ed  her  to  supply  herself  with  every 
comfort  needed.  If  any  necessity  was  wanting, 
send  her  word  at  once ;  she  was  aching  to  fill 
barrels,  as  the  churches  did  for  missionaries, 
and  forward  to  her. 

Wfc»t  Slrlj  Can  Do.  J^ 


194  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

Right  upon  this  characteristic  epistle  came 
word  from  her  husband  to  be  ready  to  return 
with  him  the  following  week.  They  had  pur- 
chased a  spot  where  she  could  camp  out,  if  she 
preferred  it  to  the  more  comfortable  quarters 
she  then  occupied.  He  could  only  promise  her 
the  joy  of  being  together.  He  well  knew  she 
desired  no  other.  It  was,  he  said,  a  rough  pio- 
neer life,  independent  enough  to  suit  the  most 
radical  freeman,  and  she  could  make  it  as  arca- 
dian and  sylvan  as  she  liked.  This  was  the 
brightest  hour  she  had  known  since  they  had 
left  her,  and  they  might  appear  at  any  moment, 
for  both  were  coming  for  a  short  rest.  Indeed, 
Ned  rebelled  at  the  very  thought  of  being  there 
alone. 

No  brighter  day  had  ever  dawned  for  her 
than  that  which  brought  them  once  more  into 
her  daily  life.  How  they  had  changed !  Ruddy 
and  brown  with  the  glow  of  health,  jubilant  in 
view  of  once  more  making  a  home  for  all  to- 
gether, and  almost  too  happy  for  speech  in  this 
blissful  meeting ! 

"  We  '11  pack  and  move  once  more,  little  wo- 
man ;  but  it  does  n't  look  so  uncertain  this  time 
as  it  did  by  a  good  deal.  I  hope  it  will  suit  you, 
sweetheart." 

"  Suit  me,  Harry  !  I  can  endure  anything  if 
we  may  be  together,  with  our  children.  I  'm 


LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH.  19$ 

ready  to  call  any  place  home  and  make  it  the 
dearest  spot  on  earth." 

"  You  '11  do  it,  mother.  With  your  taste  and 
my  strength  we  '11  transform  the  place.  Auntie 
sent  me  in  her  last  letter  enough  to  buy  a  boat, 
and  you  shall  soon  ride  on  the  lake  in  fine  style. 
The  ladies  there  make  their  calls  in  that  way. 
There  are  landings  at  all  the  fine  residences. 
Unfortunately  there  is  but  one  other  residence 
on  the  shore  of  our  tiny  lake.  %It  belongs  to  a 
physician,  who  is  there  for  his  health  and  em- 
ploys himself  in  raising  chickens.  He  has  the 
biggest  hennery  in  the  country  and  raises  an 
immense  number  of  eggs.  I  'm  bound  to  get 
acquainted  with  him  when  he  comes  down." 

"  I  say,  Ned,  I  '11  fish  every  day.  Wont  it  be 
immense !" 

"  Yes,  Hal,  you  11  have  to  provide  for  the 
table.  It  wont  do  for  a  great  fellow  like  you  to 
come  up  in  idleness." 

"  What  have  you  done  at  school  ?"  asked  his 
father. 

"  As  much  as  I  could,  sir.  How  can  a  fellow 
plod  over  his  books  with  the  thermometer  way 
up  in  the  nineties  ?  I  'd  like  to  see  Ned  do  it. 
But  I  Ve  taught  Kitty  to  read." 

"  That 's  brave !  She  '11  be  a  famous  scholar 
some  day,  our  little  flower  blossoming  in  the 
jungle." 


196  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

The  father  held  her  close,  while  she  nestled 
delightedly  in  his  arms  with  the  liveliest  satis- 
faction. 

"  Take  plenty  of  books,  Lucy.  You  must  ex- 
pect to  be  lonely.  I  want  you  to  be  happy ;  if 
not,  I  shall  pack  you  off  North  at  short  notice." 

"  Never  fear.  We  shall  be  together.  It  has 
been  long  to  wait.  I  shall  forget  it  now  ;"  and 
she  looked  into  his  dear  eyes  and  bronzed  face 
with  entire  content. 

They  were  ready  in  a  few  days,  with  abund- 
ant stores  for  the  winter. 

The  cars  took  them  nearly  all  the  way. 
They  enjoyed  every  mile.  The  country  grew 
more  and  more  strange  and  wild.  As  they 
passed  along  near  one  of  the  larger  lakes  they 
startled  a  big  crocodile  on  one  side  the  road  and 
a  flock  of  wild  turkeys  on  the  other.  Tracts  of 
burnt  pine  woods,  with  the  tall  black  stumps 
still  standing,  met  them,  while  here  and  there  a 
scene  of  picturesque  beauty  and  peaceful  home- 
life  caused  them  to  desire  the  end  of  the  weari- 
some journey.  Then  there  was  a  half-day's  ride 
in  a  lumbering  mule-cart  through  pine  stretches, 
along  sandy  paths,  with  here  and  there  a  little 
settlement,  or  a  lone  log-cabin,  where  the  sun- 
burned babies  revelled  in  the  dry  leaves  or 
basked  in  the  glaring  daylight. 

It  was  a  wild,  unfamiliar  country,  with  occa- 


LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH.  197 

sional  spots  of  rare  loveliness,  and  always  the 
clear,  beautiful  sky  above  them.  The  mules 
travelled  slowly.  The  driver,  black  as  night, 
drove  lazily,  sometimes  throwing  upon  the  quiet 
a  low  musical  note  and  quaint  words  that  filled 
Harry  with  merriment.  He  walked  with  his 
brother  for  miles,  and  Kitty  was  allowed  to  run 
over  the  path  at  her  pleasure. 

They  reached  the  lake  region ;  each  scene 
seemed  more  charming  than  the  last,  bordered 
with  luxuriant  growth,  with  occasional  clearings 
in  a  rich  state  of  cultivation,  and  sometimes 
bringing  to  view  a  fine  winter  residence  waiting 
the  return  of  its  owner.  As  they  passed  one  very 
attractive  place,  its  broad  verandas  inclosed  in 
wire  netting,  guarding  the  occupants  effectually 
from  the  insect  life  of  the  country,  in  the  midst 
of  wonderful  blooms  and  products  of  vines  and 
shade  trees  and  groves  of  fruit,  Mrs.  Brainard 
said, 

"  I  suppose  our  home  is  more  primitive,  Ned  ?" 
"  For  the  present,  yes ;  but  the  site  is  just  as 
fine,  mother ;  and  if  we  do  n't  make  it  blissful, 
I  'm  mistaken." 

"  I  '11  trust  you,  my  boy.    I  'm  eager  to  see  it." 

"  It 's  pretty  rough  now,  but  as  clean  as  paint 

and  whitewash  can  make  it ;  and  we  've  got  the 

j  oiliest  old  colored  '  auntie '  to  wait  on  you  and 

do  the  work." 


198  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

She  laughed  gleefully.  It  was  refreshing  to 
be  cared  for,  to  have  the  burden  lifted. 

Mr.  Brainard  lost  some  of  his  cheerfulness 
as  they  drew  near  the  end.  He  was  in  doubt 
about  the  little  woman's  being  able  to  rough  it, 
as  he  and  Ned  had  done.  He  dreaded  to  bring 
her  to  a  life  of  hardship.  She  saw  his  doubt,  and 
kept  up  a  lively  chat  with  Ned  and  the  children 
and  sometimes  a  word  with  the  solemn-faced 
driver. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  a  family.  How  many 
children  have  you  ?" 

"  A  right  smart  lot,  and  the  ole  woman." 

"  You  work  for  Mr.  Brainard  ?" 

"  Yes,  missy.  I 's  druv  dese  mules  goin'  on 
ten  year,  drawin'  out  de  stumps  and  breakin'  up 
de  Ian'." 

"  It  must  be  hard  to  open  new  places  and  cul- 
tivate them." 

"  Mighty  hard,  missy,  to  use  de  grubbin'  hoe 
an'  de  axe ;  but  it  pays  like." 

"  You  have  a  good  span  of  mules." 

"  I 's  druv  dese  mules  nigh  on  ten  year.  Dey 
knows  jist  all  I  think  ;  dey  's  powerful  knowin' 
critters.  Dere  's  Sam,  now,  got  a  pair  o'  mules 
dat  take  all  de  'ligion  out  of  him.  He  says  a 
fellow  dat  drives  mules  has  no  use  for  'ligion ; 
but  my  mules  knows  I 's  got  plenty  of  'ligioii  ; 
dey  do  n't  make  me  swear,  neber." 


LIFE  AT   THE   SOUTH.  199 

Again  they  wound  through  the  pines,  over 
stumps,  wherever  a  team  had  gone  before ;  and 
about  an  hour  before  sunset  they  turned  the  slow 
mules  from  the  pine  path  into  a  more  travelled 
road  within  private  grounds.  They  followed  a 
winding  path,  hedged  with  magnolias  and  an 
abundance  of  rose-bushes  of  many  varieties  ;  tall 
water-oaks  rose  on  each  side.  After  a  ride  of 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  negro  cabins  appeared,  from 
which  tumbled  a  medley  of  black  youngsters  of 
all  ages,  among  a  pack  of  baying  dogs,  to  greet 
them.  Here  were  large  tracts  laid  out  in  well 
cultivated  beds  of  various  vegetables  and  small 
fruits.  Now  they  drove  through  a  large  orange 
grove,  with  some  of  the  last  year's  fruit  still 
hanging. 

"  Can  I  have  some,  Ned  ?"  shouted  Harry. 

"  As  many  as  you  like,"  he  answered,  calling 
to  the  boys  to  come  along  and  open  and  close 
the  gates  after  them.  Then  by  a  huge  clump  of 
cabbage  palmettoes  they  passed  through  the 
last  gate,  leaving  a  half-dozen  grinning  boys 
astride  it,  eagerly  watching  them  out  of  sight. 

Now  they  drove  into  what  seemed  to  Mrs. 
Brainard  a  dense  jungle  of  roots,  trees,  hanging 
moss,  and  dank,  wild  growth  that  was  almost 
impassable.  The  rays  of  light  that  had  flecked 
through  the  pines  were  shut  out,  and  the  gloom 
was  chilling. 


200  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

"Only  a  few  rods  further,  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Brainard. 

She  looked  eagerly  into  the  dusk,  waiting  for 
a  first  sight  of  the  strange  home.  How  her 
heart  fluttered  with  fear  and  hope.  How  tightly 
she  pressed  Kitty  to  her,  trembling  with  the 
strange  excitement  of  this  rough  ride.  At  last 
they  emerged  into  an  open  space ;  before  them 
gleamed  a  small  sheet  of  water,  with  a  point  of 
land  extending  into  it.  The  clouds  above  were 
glowing  with  sunset  hues,  and  the  water  reflected 
every  shade  and  form.  Birds  strange  to  her 
dipped  to  the  surface  and  soared  away — the  red 
flamingo,  long-legged  heron,  and  crane.  Beauti- 
ful song-birds  darted  here  and  there  fearlessly, 
pouring  such  a  volume  of  melody  as  to  make  the 
place  seem  enchanted.  A  smooth,  green  surface 
fell  back  from  the  yellow  sand  of  the  curving 
beach  which  stretched  along  from  the  point; 
the  rest  of  the  lake  was  edged  with  tall  grass 
ferns  and  the  feathery  pampas,  which  extended 
to  the  garden  on  one  side  and  the  hummock  on 
the  other. 

Facing  the  west  was  a  long,  low,  roughly- 
built  cabin,  raised  about  two  feet  from  the  sand, 
with  a  rude  veranda  along  the  front,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  coarse  Bermuda  grass  pushing 
through  the  dun  soil.  On  one  side  Ned  had  in- 
closed a  piece  for  the  winter  garden.  All  about 


LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH.  2OI 

were  old  orange-trees,  lemons,  and  limes ;  under 
one  of  the  former,  and  near  the  house,  was  a 
well  of  the  purest  water. 

It  had  a  peaceful  look  to  her  tired  eyes  with 
all  its  strangeness,  and  as  her  husband  lifted  her 
from  the  cart  she  dropped  her  head  an  instant 
on  his  shoulder,  saying, 

"  Harry,  it  is  delightful!" 

"  There,  father,  I  had  better  faith  than  you ; 
I  knew  the  little  mother  would  like  it.  Come 
right  in.  Halloa,  auntie,  all  ready  for  us,  are  n't 
you  ?" 

"  Yes,  honey.  De  coffee  just  done  biled,  an' 
de  hoe-cake  mighty  hot.  Bless  you,  missy,  yer 
clean  done  up,  sho." 

How  happy  they  were!  How  the  children 
revelled  in  the  home-coming ;  even  the  father's 
voice  had  a  boyish  ring  as  they  drew  round  the 
pine  table  to  partake  of  auntie's  good  cheer, 
while  she,  her  broad  black  face  shining  under  her 
colored  kerchief,  stood  with  hands  reverently 
folded  as  the  blessing  upon  this  first  meal  was 
asked. 

Not  much  sight-seeing  for  them  that  night. 
They  were  all  tired  enough  for  a  long,  sound 
sleep.  In  the  morning  work  began  with  vigor. 

"  Take  it  easy,  Lucy.  Do  n't  try  to  do  it  all 
in  a  day.  We  Ve  got  all  the  time  there  is. 
Auntie  '11  do  it ;  she 's  used  to  it." 


202  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

"  Yes,  chile,  I 's  gwine  to  tak  de  burdensome 
part;  you  keep  in  dat  ole  cheer  an'  gib  direc- 
tions. I  can  do  a  powerful  heap  o'  work." 

To  the  happy  mother  it  was  a  charming  pic- 
nic, to  be  prolonged  indefinitely,  with  nothing 
familiar  but  the  faces  she  loved. 

How  grand  and  strong  and  capable  Ned  and 
his  father  looked  in  their  rough  clothes !  How 
their  experience  made  every  obstacle  disappear, 
smoothed  all  the  roughness  away. 

"And  this  is  the  way  you  have  lived  here 
alone  ?" 

Ned  laughed. 

"  Not  half  as  stylish,  mother.  Part  the  time 
we  've  taken  our  grub  in  our  fists  and  eaten  any- 
how." 

"  Ned !  Ned !  Do  you  talk  like  that  in  this 
wilderness  ?" 

"  I  wont,  now  that  we  shall  feel  more  like 
civilized  beings ;  but  I  've  felt  as  though  I  was 
degenerating." 

"  I  've  come  none  too  soon,  dear  boy ;  we 
came  here  to  gain,  not  to  lose." 

"  I  know ;  1 11  remember.  There 's  something 
now  worth  trying  for." 

The  main  entrance  was  into  a  long  room, 
extending  from  a  front  veranda  to  a  large  square 
latticed  porch  on  the  back  of  the  house ;  it  was 
lighted  only  from  the  large  rooms  on  each  side 


LIFE  AT   THE   SOUTH.  203 

and  the  doors  at  each  end,  always  open ;  it  was 
used  as  hall,  sitting-room,  and  dining-room.  In- 
deed, it  was  the  cheeriest  spot  in  the  house, 
and  always  in  the  evenings  the  social  centre  of 
the  home  would  be  about  the  table  in  that  room. 

The  kitchen  was  separated  by  an  open  space, 
all  under  one  roof,  with  a  large  pantry  between 
it  and  the  main  house,  the  storeroom  being  an 
immense  dry  goods  box  fitted  with  shelves,  the 
skeleton  door  covered  with  strong  wire  netting 
and  padlocked,  as  it  stood  outside  upon  the  un- 
guarded porch. 

Close  by  was  the  well,  and  across  the  porch, 
back  of  the  side  room,  north  and  connecting  with 
it,  were  two  sleeping-rooms ;  the  large  room  on 
the  other  side  of  the  hall  was  Mrs.  Brainard's,  a 
cot  for  Kitty  beside  her  own. 

"  Make  your  plans,  mother ;  take  plenty  of 
time ;  it 's  the  cheapest  thing  in  Florida.  I  '11 
be  the  boss  carpenter  and  carry  out  your  orders 
to  the  letter.  A  wardrobe  in  this  corner ;  that 
old  chest  of  drawers  that  father  fretted  about 
bringing  will  go  in  the  middle  room." 

"  Yes,  for  table  and  bed  linen." 

"  Capital.  You  see  I  've  stained  the  floors, 
and  as  soon  as  you  unpack  we  '11  down  with  some 
rugs  and  make  a  little  gem  of  a  place.  Bring 
out  your  table  covers  and  curtains  and  pictures 
and  bric-a-brac,  and  let 's  feel  at  home." 


2O4  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

"  Dear  boy,  how  you  have  missed  the  home. 
I  brought  but  few  pretty  things.  You  shall 
have  the  benefit  of  all  I  have.  Can  Kitty  get 
into  mischief?" 

"  She  had  better  keep  clear  of  the  lake." 

"Find  her,  do;  we  will  have  a  fair  under- 
standing from  the  first." 

It  was  a  delightfully  bustling  day,  and  before 
night  the  unpacking  was  accomplished,  for 
everything  had  reached  there  before  the  family. 
Curtains  were  up,  rugs  placed,  dishes  in  order, 
and  the  rooms  having  a  homelike  air  that  was 
simply  refreshing. 

For  many  days  the  sound  of  Ned's  saw  and 
hammer  could  be  heard  as  he  added  one  and 
another  convenience  to  the  place.  The  rafters, 
which  had  never  been  concealed  in  any  of  the 
rooms,  he  covered  with  a  thin,  pale  gray  cloth, 
giving  the  appearance  of  a  well  finished  wall. 
At  the  top  and  bottom  of  this  he  stretched  a 
half  breadth  of  a  slightly  contrasting  color,  while 
the  low  ceiling  was  covered  with  white,  firmly 
tacked  to  the  sides ;  nothing  could  have  finished 
the  room  more  daintily. 

"There,  mother,  are  your  frieze  and  dado; 
now  we  '11  get  up  the  pictures  and  dream  we  're 
back  at  the  North." 

With  a  few  boards  he  put  together  and 
stained  a  set  of  shelves  for  the  books,  before 


LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH.  2O5 

which  the  mother  drew  a  pretty  curtain.  It  was 
a  charming  room ;  they  only  regretted  their 
friends  could  not  share  it  with  them.  The  chil- 
dren soon  became  friends  with  Aunty,  and  hung 
about  watching  her  skill  in  the  kitchen. 

"  How  old  is  little  missy?"  she  asked  Harry. 

"  She 's  five  and  I  'm  thirteen.  How  old  are 
you  ?" 

"  Tears  like  I 's  right  smart  ageable,  honey. 
My  children  all  done  growed  up  and  lef  de  ole 
mammy  alone  now  sho.  Reckon  you  uns  be  my 
chilluns  now ;  mus  hab  a  swing  ober  yonder  in 
de  trees  for  you  uns." 

"  Good !  Ned  '11  do  it.  Come,  Kit,  let 's  find 
him  and  see  about  it."  Already  a  hammock  hung 
in  the  veranda,  shaded  by  two  large  grown  ole- 
anders, and  beyond  was  the  shining  foliage  of 
the  magnolia,  a  mass  of  verdure. 

Ned  promised  himself  to  bring  the  place  into 
a  more  orderly  state  in  good  time ;  just  now  he 
was  showing  his  mother  all  its  fine  points,  call- 
ing attention  to  its  unlimited  capacity,  showing 
with  pride  his  garden,  surrounded  with  a  closely 
built  lathe  fence,  that  the  wild  rabbits  might  not 
demolish  everything.  It  was  yet  in  embryo,  but 
plainly  promised  grand  results. 

"  See  my  strawberry  bed ;  it  looks  well." 

"  Strawberries !  Where 's  the  cream  to  come 
from?" 


206  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

"  We  can  get  plenty  of  milk  from  the  other 
place ;  the  boys  live  on  mush  and  milk." 

"What  about  fresh  meat?  You  have  not 
been  entirely  without  it,  I  hope." 

"  Indeed  no ;  the  lake  furnishes  fish,  the 
woods  game.  We  can  get  rabbit  or  quail  any 
day.  Then  we  have  chickens,  eggs,  and  the 
great  resource  of  the  South,  canned  meats  in 
plenty.  I  shall  break  land  at  once,  mother,  for 
a  young  grove,  and  in  a  few  years  the  place  will 
be  worth  three  times  its  cost." 

It  would  be  a  long  story  to  attempt  the  de- 
tails of  this  pioneer  life.  Ned  infected  them  all 
with  his  boundless  enthusiasm.  The  father  lost 
his  careworn,  troubled  look.  The  mother  called 
back  some  of  the  buoyant  spirit  of  her  girlhood, 
while  Kitty  ran  among  the  luxuriant  growth 
around  them  with  as  much  delight  and  freedom 
as  the  wild  rabbit  that,  at  a  safe  distance,  sat  on 
its  haunches  and  gazed  curiously  at  her.  For  a 
time  Harry  was  to  mingle  work  and  study  at 
home  with  the  help  Ned  could  give  him.  He 
was  looking  forward,  however,  if  they  were  pros- 
pered, to  finishing  off  at  Rollin's  College,  re- 
cently started  at  Winter  Park. 


JACK'S  DISGRACE.  207 

CHAPTER  XII. 

JACK'S  DISGRACE. 

THE  last  year  of  school-life  passed  swiftly ; 
our  young  friends  had  graduated  with  honor  and 
were  entering  bravely  upon  active  life. 

Clare,  with  humility  and  patience  coming 
only  through  the  love  that  "  suffereth  long  and 
is  kind,"  was  still  praying  and  hoping  for  Nellie, 
striving  to  be  a  peacemaker  on  earth,  exerting 
the  influence  of  a  life  hid  in  Christ  upon  those 
she  met  in  the  daily  walks  of  life.  She  had 
need  of  patience,  charity,  of  generous  forbear- 
ance, and  all  the  divine  help  so  freely  bestowed 
upon  those  who  labor  for  and  with  Christ,  for 
had  she  not  taken  her  stand  fearlessly  against 
jealousy,  cruelty,  and  self-righteousness,  those  at- 
tributes of  a  loveless  soul  ? 

Barbara  in  the  same  humble  style  was  caring 
for  her  father,  who  through  her  thrift  was  able 
to  lay  by  a  monthly  sum  for  a  possible  emergen- 
cy, and  to  give  her  a  few  lessons  in  the  art  she 
loved,  painting  in  water  colors.  To  this  end 
they  had  rented  the  tiny  room  over  the  entrance, 
and  dubbed  it  the  studio.  Its  walls  were  soon 
covered  with  studies  of  all  that  the  out-of-door 


208  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

world  supplied,  and  here  Etta  and  Clare  often 
met  to  watch  her  progress  and  encourage  her 
efforts. 

Etta's  life  was  given  to  the  home,  lightening 
the  mother's  cares  and  watching  over  the  pet  of 
the  whole  family,  her  baby,  as  she  called  him, 
though  nothing  brought  the  indignant  flush 
quicker  to  his  cheek  than  to  hear  the  older  bro- 
thers call  him  Etta's  baby.  He  was  a  brave, 
manly  little  fellow,  and  since  the  day,  two  years 
before,  into  which  was  concentrated  all  the  suf- 
fering of  her  life  Etta  had  hardly  allowed  him 
out  of  her  sight.  She  was  his  body-guard  and 
his  jolly  playfellow,  the  chief  sympathizer  of  his 
small  griefs,  and  his  ready  comforter  when  the 
elder  brothers  joked  him  too  roughly.  She  trea- 
sured all  his  bright  little  speeches,  repeated 
them  to  Clare  and  Barbara,  took  him  with  her 
always  in  her  frequent  calls  upon  her  two  friends. 

"  Come,  Hale,  let 's  run  out  and  see  what  Bar- 
by  's  doing  to-day,"  she  called  one  morning. 

"  Yes,  and  we  11  talk.  You  '11  tell  me  the  rest 
of  the  Wandering  Jew,  Etta." 

"  I  told  you  that  last  time.  We  '11  take  some- 
thing else." 

"  Oh  yes.  Crusoe  and  his  man  Friday.  I 
like  that,  and  the  footprints !  Oh  how  it  makes 
my  watch  tick  in  me,"  putting  his  hand  over  his 
heart. 


JACK'S  DISGRACE.  209 

She  laughed  at  the  funny  conceit. 

"Where's  the  Wandering  Jew  now,  sister? 
Tell  me  just  a  little  more  about  him." 

"  Oh,  Hale,  it 's  a  fairy  tale.  There 's  no 
truth  in  it,  you  know." 

"  But  I  want  it  to  be  true.  I  do  n't  like  fairy 
tales.  How  do  you  know  that  the  dear  Jesus 
is  n't  a  fairy  tale,  sister  ?" 

Thus  he  startled  her  with  his  searching  ques- 
tions until  her  heart  was  touched,  and  the  old, 
sweet  story  became  still  more  a  reality  to  her 
and  the  guide  of  her  young  life. 

Nellie  had  overlooked  Clare's  offence  and 
deigned  to  return  Barbara's  greeting  when  they 
met,  which  was  rarely  now  that  school-days  were 
over.  She  was  forced  to  respect  one  who  persist- 
ently and  grandly  put  duty  first,  and  who  would 
not  be  rewarded  for  doing  right.  The  old  inti- 
macy between  Clare  and  Nellie  had  never  been 
renewed. 

Nellie  considered  her  education  finished. 

She  had  not  comprehended  that  it  might 
mean  development  of  the  whole  woman,  not  the 
partial  culture  that  warps  the  moral  nature  and 
stunts  the  physical  growth. 

The  stream  could  not  flow  higher  than  the 
fountain  ;  and  her  mother  gave  neither  time  nor 
thought  to  such  old-fashioned  subjects.  She  had 
trained  her  for  a  life  of  selfish  gratification  ;  and 

Wh»t  OirUCan  Do.  \A 


210  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

at  the  rate  she  was  speeding  on,  the  goal  would 
soon  be  reached.  What  then  ?  She  neither 
knew  nor  seemed  to  care. 

Clare  still  followed  her  uncle's  lead,  and  was 
doing  thorough  student  work  that  won  his  high- 
est commendation.  Dot  had  entered  the  high- 
school,  and  danced  through  the  hours  as  she 
always  had. 

Jack  had  been  a  year  in  college.  Perhaps  no 
one  outside  his  home  missed  the  genial  fellow 
more  than  Miss  Gray.  He  had  never  failed  to 
give  her  a  call  when  he  came  home.  He  was 
still  her  only  visitor.  She  would  have  no  other. 
He  told  his  mother  it  was  a  fortunate  tempest 
that  opened  the  door  to  him.  She  heartily 
agreed  with  him  and  wished  he  might  still  be 
under  her  influence. 

She  feared  for  her  easy-going  boy  away  from 
home  and  the  restraining  power  of  the  mother- 
love.  Never  strong,  his  affection  for  and  tender 
care  of  her  had  exerted  almost  a  healing  power ; 
but  this  separation  had  sapped  her  flagging  ener- 
gies and  weakened  her  ability  to  resist.  Every 
home-coming  was  anticipated  with  impatience, 
and  every  parting  held  a  fresh  and  bitterer  sting. 
Ah,  if  he  should  go  wrong!  If  temptation 
should  come  to  her  boy,  and  she  not  by  to  help 
him  stand  firm !  It  would  be  more  than  she 
could  bear. 


JACK'S  DISGRACE.  211 

And  now  Miss  Gray's  thoughts  turned  upon 
him.  Why  had  he  not  been  to  see  her  when  last 
in  the  city  ?  Months  had  slipped  by,  and  she 
had  neither  seen  nor  heard  from  him.  The  win- 
ter came  and  passed  :  she  believed  Jack  had  for- 
gotten. She  could  not  forget  those  rides,  those 
cosey  carriage  lunches  sent  by  his  invalid  mo- 
ther. They  must  linger  in  her  memory  even 
though  he  should  never  come  again. 

At  last  rumors  reached  her  that  he  was  not 
doing  well,  had  more  than  once  gotten  into 
disgrace  with  the  faculty  and  been  threatened 
with  suspension.  At  the  beginning  of  his  sec- 
ond year  these  rumors  assumed  a  definite  form. 
One  afternoon  Mr.  Hamlin  asked  her  to  remain 
a  few  minutes. 

"  I  find,  Miss  Gray,  that  Jack  is  in  trouble. 
His  father  is  distressed  and  angry.  Mrs.  Ellis 
has  sent  you  a  note  ;  here  it  is.  She  has  faith  in 
your  influence  over  him.  I  think  you  may  do 
him  good  now.  You  certainly  brought  to  light 
happy  traits  that  had  lain  dormant  before.  He 's 
getting  off  the  track  again ;  but  I  believe  in  the 
fellow,  if  you  don't  give  him  up,  Miss  Gray." 

She  took  the  note,  rewarding  him  for  his 
faith  in  her  young  friend  by  one  of  those  respon- 
sive smiles  that  lent  to  her  quiet  face  a  wonder- 
ful glow. 

As  she  read  the  note  a  spasm  of  pain  chased 


212  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

the  smile  away,  and  glancing  up,  her  dark  eyes 
full  of  sadness,  she  said, 

"  If  I  write  a  line  to  Jack,  how  can  he  get  it, 
Mr.  Hamlin  ?" 

"  I  will  take  it,  if  you  like." 

"  Thank  you  ;  you  are  very  kind  to  me." 

The  words  were  simple,  the  tone  meaningless, 
but  he  was  moved,  despite  his  apparent  indiffer- 
ence. As  he  waited  for  the  note,  he  thought 
how  gladly  he  would  brighten  all  her  life  by 
kindness  if  he  might.  The  temptation  was 
strong  to  tell  her  so  then  and  there.  But  no,  he 
had  read  her  character  too  well  to  risk  so  much. 
He  should  not  gain  her  friendship  by  sudden 
impulse,  and  he  might  lose  his  teacher. 

Saturday  morning  camp — her  day  of  freedom- 
The  increased  salary  had  allowed  the  luxury  of 
another  room — up  under  the  roof,  to  be  sure,  but 
neatly  furnished,  and  looking  beyond  the  toiling, 
busy  crowd  below  to  distant  hills  and  a  fine  ex- 
panse of  western  sky.  This  was  her  refuge, 
where  her  weary  mind  sought  rest  and  her  hope- 
less heart  found  all  of  peace  she  ever  expected 
to  have  on  earth. 

As  she  sat  there  dreaming,  steps  came  over 
the  stairs  and  a  rap  at  the  door  wakened  her. 

"Jack,  you  have  not  quite  forgotten  me, 
then?" 

"  Why,  Miss  Gray,  I  should  have  come  long 


JACK'S  DISGRACE.  213 

ago,  but  thought  you  would  n't  care  to  see  a  wild 
boy." 

She  led  him  in,  and  sat  near,  winning  him  at 
once  with  that  radiant  smile  that  had  rewarded 
him  often  before. 

"  I  always  care  to  see  you,  Jack.  I  have  few 
friends,  you  know.  Outside  these  poor  rooms, 
you  are  the  only  one  who  keeps  with  me  my  se- 
cret." 

"  That 's  so,  Miss  Gray.  I  wish  I  'd  not  kept 
away  so  long." 

"  I  wish  so  too,  Jack ;  and  now  that  you  have 
come  to  see  me,  you  will  let  me  prove  myself 
a  friend  and  help  you  as  I  used  to." 

Jack  wanted  to  stand  well  before  her.  He 
had  hoped  she  was  unaware  of  his  fall  from  rec- 
titude :  and  when  in  calm,  tender  tones  she  told 
him  of  the  stories  reaching  her,  and  the  pain  it 
had  given  her,  he  was  inclined  to  fall  back  upon 
his  dignity  and  reserve.  Flushing  angrily,  he 
asked, 

"  Is  it  friendly  to  believe  all  you  hear  of  me, 
Miss  Gray  ?" 

"  Do  you  doubt  my  friendship,  Jack?" 

"  I  thought  one  attribute  was  trust." 

"  A  better  attribute  than  blind  trust,  Jack,  is 
faithfulness,  and  I  can  plainly  see  that  you  have 
not  the  innocence  of  the  boy  I  first  knew." 

"  I  'm  older,  Miss  Gray ;  you  '11  find  little  of 


214  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO'. 

innocence  after  you  are  fairly  launched  into  the 
world.  I  'm  no  worse  than  ten  thousand  others." 

"  The  world  cannot  take  our  treasures  unless 
we  give  them,  Jack.  One  may  see  the  fire,  not 
rush  blindly  into  it.  But  I  didn't  ask  you  here 
to  rebuke  or  censure  or  make  you  unhappy,  but 
to  tell  you  something.  May  I !" 

"  Yes,  Miss  Gray,  I  'm  resigned,"  he  answered 
in  a  reckless,  do  n't-care  tone,  unlike  his  former 
happy  way.  "  You  're  just  like  mother." 

"  And  you  believe  in  the  mother-love,  even  if 
you  do  doubt  my  friendship  a  little  ?" 

"  I  believe  in  both,  Miss  Gray.  I  'm  ashamed 
of  myself :  but  the  truth  is,  I  'm  in  with  a  hard 
set  of  boys,  and  am  not  going  right,  that's  a 
fact.  I  might  as  well  make  a  clean  breast  of  it." 

"  Never  mind  confessions,  Jack.  Let  me 
read  you  a  page  of  my  own  life,  one  that  I  have 
not  opened  for  many  a  long  year,  and  never 
thought  to  again.  But  if  it  might  help  you  to 
be  firm  as  a  rock  to  resist  temptation,  I  shall  not 
regret  the  bitterness  of  returning  to  it." 

"  Do  n't,  Miss  Gray,  do  n't.  I  '11  do  all  you 
ask  without ;  it 's  too  much  for  you  to  do  this  for 
me." 

"  No,  if  you  were  my  young  brother  I  should 
do  it  gladly.  I  will  call  you  brother.  How  will 
that  do,  Jack  ?"  giving  him  her  hand. 

He  caught  it  fervently,  saying, 


JACK'S  DISGRACE.  21$ 

"  I  'm  sure  you  are  kind  as  any  sister  could 
be,  but  I  never  had  one." 

"  Let  me  hasten  and  make  the  story  short. 
After  hearing  it  I  believe  you  will  grow  strong 
to  say  '  no '  to  any  companion.  I  was  about  as 
old  as  you  were  the  first  time  I  saw  you  when 
my  first  grief  came  to  me ;  before  that  life  had 
been  a  succession  of  gala  days.  My  parents  were 
wealthy,  my  home  a  paradise  of  comfort,  refine- 
ment, and  beauty.  I  was  an  only  daughter,  with 
one  older  brother,  and  he  was  the  pride  of  our 
hearts ;  all  the  hopes  of  my  parents  centred  in 
him.  My  mother  and  I  cared  for  no  pleasure  we 
might  not  share  with  him,  and  his  joys  were 
magnified  if  we  could  partake  of  the  same.  Then 
came  the  first  sorrow.  Our  father  died — a  noble 
man,  kind,  indulgent,  tender.  My  mother  was 
broken-hearted.  In  her  helplessness  and  grief 
she  turned  to  my  brother,  intrusting  all  her  in- 
terest to  him.  We  had  not  a  thought  that  he 
could  fail  us.  He  was  in  college  then,  a  tall, 
handsome,  manly  fellow,  with  a  host  of  gay 
friends  that  followed  him  everywhere.  But  he 
loved  us  best ;  he  gave  us  all  his  leisure  time  for 
months,  until  we  had  become  accustomed  to  our 
sorrow.  He  was  gentle,  thoughtful,  and  consid- 
erate, and  we  loved  and  trusted  him,  oh  how  en- 
tirely. 

"  But  the  cloud  still  hung  over  us.    My  mo- 


2l6  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

ther  could  not  rally  from  the  first  blow,  her 
health  was  shattered ;  and  when  her  only  son, 
beloved  and  trusted,  was  tempted,  yielded,  and 
fell,  she  could  only  fold  her  hands  and  with  tear- 
ful entreaties  try  to  win  him  back  to  us.  Many 
times  false  friends  allured  him  from  us,  helping 
him  to  fall  lower  and  lower  each  time,  until 
prayers  by  day  and  tears  by  night  were  the  por- 
tion of  this  best  of  mothers,  but  all  of  no  avail. 
Gradually  our  large  property  dwindled  away,  and 
one  day,  with  the  suddenness  of  a  hurricane,  we 
realized  that  our  home  was  lost  to  us.  We  were 
penniless,  friendless,  homeless ;  and  he  who  had 
promised  my  father  on  his  bed  of  death  to  care 
for  us  as  tenderly  as  human  love  could  was 
wrecked  with  all  the  rest.  It  killed  my  mother, 
Jack ;  her  heart  was  broken,  and  in  mercy  God 
took  her  home. 

"  One  faithful  creature  clung  to  us  through  it 
all,  my  good  nurse.  You  have  seen  her.  I  need 
not  tell  you  of  the  misery  since,  the  utter  hope- 
lessness, the  depths  of  degradation  and  sin.  I 
cannot  tell  you  of  my  brother's  life,  his  vile  com- 
panions, my  days  of  torture  and  my  nights  of 
terror,  until  the  wrath  of  the  Lord  struck  him 
down  a  helpless  imbecile,  and  I  in  my  despair 
found  that  in  His  wrath  He  still  remembered 
mercy,  for  my  brother  did  not  die.  The  rest 
you  know.  I  found  my  present  position  as 


JACK'S  DISGRACE.  217 

teacher,  glad  to  earn  my  daily  bread.  My  mis- 
sion now  is  to  care  for  one  who,  if  he  could  have 
been  strong  to  resist  temptation,  would  have 
died  to  save  me  one  hour's  pain." 

The  retrospection  had  been  too  much  for  her. 
Her  lips  quivered,  her  voice  trembled,  and  with 
the  last  words  her  head  sank  upon  the  white, 
slender  hand  and  sobs  shook  her  whole  frame. 

Jack  was  silent ;  his  lips  worked  convulsively ; 
but  her  grief  was  too  violent  for  words  of  his  to 
quell.  It  died  away  at  last,  and  looking  into  his 
sympathetic  face  she  said, 

"  Your  mother  loves  you,  Jack.  You  are  all 
she  has.  Will  you  fail  her  ?  Will  you  yield  to 
selfish  gratification  and  rob  her  of  a  son  ?  She 
is  not  strong.  You  may  not  have  her  long, 
Jack." 

He  rose  and  took  both  of  her  hands,  saying, 

"  Miss  Gray,  I  'm  glad  I  know  this.  God 
bless  you  for  telling  me !  Before  Him  and  with 
His  help  I  promise  to  stand  upright  in  the  future 
and  firmly  turn  from  every  weakness.  I  will 
not  fail  her ;  I  will  not  fail  you,  my  sister.  Do 
you  trust  me?" 

"  As  never  before,  Jack  ;"  and  the  smile  that 
won  him  first  beamed  on  him  now  through  her 
tears  with  all  its  illuminating  light. 

He  went  from  Miss  Gray  to  his  mother's 
room.  No  woman's  step  could  be  lighter,  no 


218  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

touch  more  tender  or  voice  more  gentle,  than  his 
as  he  dropped  before  the  lounge,  drawn  near  a 
light  wood  blaze  on  the  hearth,  and  kissed  the 
delicate  face  turned  inquiringly  towards  him. 
"  I  've  come  to  confess,  mother  dearest." 
"  No,  no,  my  darling  boy.     Let  there  be  no 
need  of  that  between  us.    Surely  we  can  trust 
each  other." 

"  Do  n't  stoop  to  my  level,  mother." 
"  Is  it  so  ?    Then,  dear  boy,  reach  even  to  a 
higher  than  mine." 

He  kissed  the  hand  reached  out  to  him  and 
dropped  his  head  upon  the  cushion  beside  her, 
saying,  "  Trust  me  still,  if  you  can.  With 
Christ's  help  I  will  not  fail  you  again,  mother. 
I  will  be  true  from  now." 

"  I  'm  sure  of  it,  dear  boy.     I  can  put  all  my 
fear  away.     We  will  be  all  we  can  to  each  other 
now,   Jack."      Then   rousing   herself    to  more 
cheer  she  asked  if  he  had  seen  Clare. 
"  No,  not  yet.     I  called  on  Miss  Gray." 
"  Ah  I  am  glad.     Some  time  I  hope  she  will 
come  here ;  but  she  is  so  taxed  it  would  be 
wrong  to  ask  it  now.     The  girls  come  often. 
I  'm  very  fond  of  Clare's  little  friend." 

"  Barby,  as  Hal  calls  her?  Yes,  she 's  a  gem, 
mother.  They  tell  me  she  paints  well  already. 
I  must  call  and  see  what  she  does  in  that  line. 
I  wonder  if  she  makes  it  profitable.  I  suppose 


JACK'S  DISGRACE.  219 

they  need  to  badly  enough.  Clare  would  know. 
I  wish  we  might  get  up  some  more  rides  on  the 
bicycle.  How  Dot  did  enjoy  them  !  I  suppose 
Nellie  keeps  on  the  same  ambitious  course.  Do 
you  see  her  often  ?" 

"  An  occasional  call — when  she  has  a  new 
costume  to  exhibit,  and  sometimes  to  bring  me 
a  bunch  of  roses.  They  are  all  thoughtful." 

"Yes,  Nellie  gets  herself  up  in  rare  style; 
but  that  satisfies  her  soul — evidently  the  end  of 
her  ambition." 

" One  can  hardly  blame  her" 

"Poor  Nell!  If  only  her  mother  had  been 
like  you !  But  if  you  do  n't  need  me  I  '11  ask  her 
to  ride,  little  mother."  The  tone  brought  a  glow 
into  the  sweet  pale  face. 

"  Go,  dear ;  Nellie  is  fond  of  riding.  I  shall 
be  glad  to  see  you  back ;  do  n't  hasten,  though." 

Jack  was  not  indolent,  but  not  quite  ready  to 
buckle  down  to  hard  work.  He  wanted  a  few 
more  years  of  pleasure,  more  freedom  from  re- 
straint, more  time  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  and 
indulge  in  manly  sports.  He  had  been  denied 
nothing  that  could  add  to  his  enjoyment.  Now 
his  father  expected  him  to  apply  himself  to  his 
work  during  its  legitimate  hours.  He  was  ambi- 
tious to  have  this  only  son  a  success  in  whatever 
vocation  he  should  select  for  his  life-work. 

Thus  far  his  wishes,  barely  hinted  at,  had 


220  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

availed  nothing.  The  boy  laughed,  frolicked, 
and  frittered  away  much  time  that  should  have 
been  given  to  more  serious  pursuits.  Still  the 
father  waited  silently  and  hopefully.  This  sus- 
pension had  caused  him  deep  mortification,  and 
for  once  his  patience  was  nearly  exhausted. 

The  mother,  as  we  have  seen,  idolized  him. 
She  discovered  her  own  glad  spirit  reflected  in 
his  buoyant  nature  and  rejoiced  in  his  happiness, 
sure  that  as  time  passed  he  would  grow  strong 
and  manly. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  is  his  time  for  merry- 
making ;  the  days  are  longer,  the  sun  brighter, 
the  flowers  have  richer  fragrance  and  more  bril- 
liant bloom.  Let  him  be  happy  while  he  can ; 
by-and-by  he  will  toil  the  harder  to  repay  you 
for  the  waiting.  Be  patient  with  him,  dear." 

The  husband  smiled  with  scant  approval, 
patted  her  shoulder,  and  turned  away. 

Thus  Jack's  enforced  vacation  meant  a  few 
hours  of  study  under  a  private  tutor  and  many 
more  of  gayety.  His  pony  was  his  chief  enjoy- 
ment, with  Jip  ever  at  his  heels.  Sometimes  he 
hunted,  or  called  it  hunting,  seldom  bringing 
back  game.  Again,  with  rod  in  hand,  he  pre- 
tended to  fish  ;  but  his  dash  and  noise,  his  whist- 
ling or  singing,  warned  the  shy  dwellers  of  the 
brook,  and  after  swinging  his  fly  a  while  that 
pleasure  palled,  and  with  never-failing  hilarity 


JACK'S  DISGRACE.  221 

he  turned  to  another;  not  unlike  the  brook, 
swiftly  flowing  on  with  sparkle  and  babble, 
doing  little  good,  perhaps  no  harm  for  the  pres- 
ent, though  liable  to  become  a  torrent,  bearing 
in  its  mad  flow  everything  that  would  obstruct 
its  course.  So  habits  formed  in  youth  and  reck- 
lessly indulged  master  the  will  and  destroy  the 
man. 

His  affection  for  his  mother,  fervent  and  un- 
varying, was  his  anchor.  It  kept  him  sound  at 
heart  and  pure  in  life  amid  temptations  of  which 
she,  shielded  as  she  was,  could  have  no  knowl- 
edge. There  was  a  spice  of  chivalry  in  the  boy's 
nature  that  incited  him  to  a  tender  thought  for 
her  weakness,  that  made  him  gentle  in  her  pres- 
ence and  attentive  to  her  needs.  He  never  wea- 
ried of  being  to  her  the  sunshine  of  her  sick- 
room or  ministering  to  her  in  any  way.  Though 
he  often  rebelled  at  the  tasks  of  class- work,  he 
could  read  to  her  by  the  hour  or  sing  his  college 
songs  as  brightly  and  gayly  to  drive  away  her 
pains  as  he  would  among  his  comrades.  He  was 
the  pride  of  her  heart  and  the  glory  of  her  days. 
How  she  gazed  on  his  handsome  face  and  lis- 
tened for  his  coming  step !  How  the  sound  of 
his  voice  lingered  in  her  ears  long  after  he  had 
left  her  side !  She  knew  she  could  be  with  him 
but  little  longer,  and  prayer  for  God's  grace  to 
keep  her  boy  and  shield  him  was  in  her  heart 


222  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

always,  and  on  her  lips  in  his  absence.  He  never 
saw  her  tears.  The  sick-room  must  always  be 
the  brightest  spot  in  the  house  for  him  and  the 
father.  Thus  they  were  blinded  to  the  fact  that 
her  weakness  increased,  that  the  slight  form 
grew  each  day  more  fragile,  that  the  flush  in  her 
cheek,  so  lovely  to  them,  was  but  a  signal  of  the 
approach  of  one  whom  they  feared  to  harbor 
even  in  thought. 

The  nurse  wondered  at  their  blindness  and 
almost  rebelled  when  evening  after  evening  she 
heard  the  lively  chat  of  father  and  son,  the 
merry  jest  and  the  low  carol  of  the  boy,  who 
had  instinctively  learned  to  modulate  his  tones 
to  his  mother's  pleasure  and  apparent  need. 

If  in  her  anxiety  for  her  patient  she  made  a 
sign  of  disapproval,  the  mother  hushed  her. 

"  Do  n't  trouble  them,  I  beg.  We  are  so 
happy,  and  they  will  have  it  to  remember  by- 
and-by." 

Thus  the  weeks  of  Jack's  suspension  from 
college  proved  his  salvation.  He  never  forgot 
that  loving  presence,  that  yearning  look  that 
appealed  to  all  that  was  noble  in  him,  the  in- 
fluence of  those  ever-to-be-remembered  even- 
ings when  he  had  so  easily  and  gladly  thrown 
off  the  tempter's  yoke  and  buckled  on,  if  not  at 
once  the  whole  armor  of  God,  at  least  a  shield  of 
faith,  with  a  strong  determination  to  walk  wor- 


JACK'S  DISGRACE.  223 

thily  of  that  pure  spirit — a  shield  that  would 
help  him  to  fight  against  the  weakness  of  his 
will  and  triumph  in  the  end. 

He  was  not  sure  how  much  his  mother  knew 
of  his  disregard  of  college  laws  and  the  unhappy 
result,  for  she  had  never  expressed  a  doubt  of 
him  in  word  or  look.  It  was  that  far-seeing 
faith,  that  holy  mother-love,  that  saved  him 
from  himself. 

He  had  failed  to  meet  his  father's  require- 
ments, had  disregarded  his  wishes  again  and 
again.  It  had  not  been  low  desires  or  base  pur- 
suits that  first  enticed  him.  His  free,  generous 
nature  demanded  companionship,  his  jovial 
tastes  clamored  to  be  met,  and  in  yielding  he 
had  overstepped  the  mark  and  been  reckless  of 
reproof. 

At  his  first  meeting  with  his  father  he  had 
said,  "  I  know  you  're  disgusted  with  me.  I 
s'pose  I  could  keep  in  the  tracks  if  I  liked  it 
better ;  but  I  do  hate  to  grind,  that 's  a  fact." 

"  And  you  have  two  years  after  this,"  frown- 
ing sternly. 

"  I  wish  they  were  over  and  I  out  of  it." 

"You'd  be  a  poor  stick  if  they  were.  It 
sounds  harsh,  Jack,  but  you  stand  in  desperate 
need  of  just  the  drill  you'll  get  by  holding 
bravely  to  your  tasks  for  the  next  two  years.  If 
you  can't  muster  manliness  enough  to  conquer 


224  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

your  indolence  I  shall  be  ashamed  of  you.  I 
hope  it's  nothing  worse,  Jack." 

" I  will,  father.  Try  me  once  more.  I  don't 
believe  I  'm  lazy,  father." 

"  Not  exactly.  You  're  as  full  of  motion  as  a 
wild  colt.  But  life  is  not  to  be  danced  away. 
You  Ve  had  your  play ;  now  solid  work  must 
come  in." 

"  I  can  be  active  enough ;  this  buckling  down 
to  the  drudgery  of  it  is  what  I  hate.  I  could 
stand  a  reasonable  amount  of  work,  but  for  a 
steady  diet,  father,  it 's  too  much.  But  I  '11  do  it 
or  die.  I  would  n't  like  to  wager  any  remarka- 
ble success,  but  I  wont  disgrace  you,  father." 

"  I  hope  you  wont,  my  boy.  If  you  had  as 
many  brothers  as  your  friend  Burr  we  might 
not  ask  so  much  of  you."  He  shook  his  head 
and  turned  away,  sensibly  moved. 

"Trust  me  once  more,  father." 

"  I  will,  Jack.  The  years  are  before  you ;  it 's 
not  too  late.  You  know  your  duty  and  where  to 
find  help  if  you  ask.  A  stern  Christian  principle 
is  your  only  safeguard." 

"  I  'm  as  ignorant  as  a  fool  of  the  first  princi- 
ples. I  wish  I  was  more  like  my  mother." 

"You  are  like  her  as  she  was  twenty-five 
years  ago.  I  should  be  sorry  for  you  to  lose  the 
keen  delight  you  have  in  living.  Put  the  same 
spirit  into  your  work,  make  your  standard  high, 


JACK'S  DISGRACE.  225 

and  keep  yourself  up  to  it,  then  we  shall  not 
fear  for  you." 

They  separated.  Jack  went  to  his  mother 
for  a  good-by  word  before  calling  on  the  young 
friends  who  were  to  be  pressed  into  the  service 
of  making  his  banishment  endurable. 

Nellie  looked  her  freshest,  eyes  sparkling  and 
voice  eager ;  had  just  come  in  from  the  street, 
flung  off  her  carriage  wrap,  and  was  lounging 
away  the  hours  in  solitude.  She  met  him  with 
genuine  pleasure,  greeted  him  cordially,  and 
begged  him  to  remain  to  lunch  with  them. 

"  Is  Jetty  out  there,  Jack?" 

"  Yes.     Will  you  ride  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  will ;  just  the  day  for  it.  We  will 
lunch  in  ten  minutes.  Where  shall  we  go?" 

"  Anywhere,  over  the  hills  or  down  the  river 
road." 

"  The  river  road,  that 's  the  best ;  everybody 
drives  there." 

Mrs.  Miller  met  him  graciously  at  lunch,  evi- 
dently quite  satisfied  to  find  Nellie  taken  off  her 
hands  for  the  day. 

A  half-hour  of  lively  conversation  over  the 
table  and  Nellie  prepared  herself,  appearing,  as 
Jack  pictured  her  to  his  mother,  "  rigged  out  in 
a  stunning  dark  blue  stuff,  with  a  blue  and  white 
striped  skirt,  a  kind  of  white  vest  and  cuffs,  and 
a  jolly  little  blue  sailor-hat  trimmed  with  blue 

Wh*t  Gii li  C»n  Do.  I  C 


226  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

velvet  and  white.  She  looked  gay,  and  the  best 
of  it  was,  little  mother,  she  knew  it.  There  's 
Barbara  would  look  just  as  lovely  and  not  have 
an  inkling  of  it.  But  we  took  the  river  road,  and 
Miss  Nellie  was  quite  attractive,  I  assure  you." 

"  I  can  well  believe  it." 

"  All  she  needs,  mother,  is  soul." 

"  It  is  there.  It  only  wants  a  higher  impulse 
— to  hear  the  call  of  God." 

The  ride  was  exhilarating.  The  early  sum. 
mer  was  passing.  Fields  were  filled  with  the 
cut  hay  and  the  air  with  its  fragrance.  The  foli- 
age moved  with  the  slight  breeze  and  was  vocal 
with  the  carol  of  birds.  Beyond  the  city,  in  the 
broad  pastures  and  on  the  more  distant  high- 
land, beautiful  dun  cattle  cropped  the  verdure, 
raising  calm,  contented  eyes  as  the  happy  pair 
swept  by.  The  river,  on  the  other  side,  moved 
quickly  and  steadily  on.  The  setting  sun  neared 
the  horizon  as  they  entered  the  city  and  drew 
towards  home. 


MISSION  OF  THE  WILD   FLOWERS.          22^ 

CHAPTER    XIII. 

MISSION  OF  THE  WILD  FLOWERS. 

BARBARA  sat  in  her  tiny  work-room  early  in 
the  day,  looking  through  the  miniature  window- 
panes,  relics  of  the  pristine  glory  of  the  old 
house,  attracted  by  a  mass  of  color  across  the 
way.  The  city  had  been  steadily  growing  near- 
er, yet  there  were  spaces  in  which  the  sweet,  wild 
things  she  loved  could  flourish.  It  was  a  signal 
not  to  be  disregarded.  Taking  her  hat  she 
ran  over  to  see  what  had  blossomed  so  lately. 
They  were  a  clump  of  asters,  deeper  and  richer 
in  color  than  she  had  found  before.  A  glow  of 
delight  spread  over  her  face.  She  picked  every 
one.  They  almost  spoke  to  her,  as  friends  do. 
They  recalled  the  delicate  face  of  the  mother  she 
still  missed  and  the  summer  days  of  long  ago. 

With  full  hands  she  turned  back.  A  great  lum- 
bering cart,  drawn  by  two  powerful  horses,  was 
passing.  Between  the  animals  an  ugly-looking 
dog  trotted.  The  man,  way  up  in  front,  looked 
down  upon  her,  his  hard  face  relaxing  at  the 
sight,  even  as  a  dreary  scene  takes  on  the  glow 
of  foreign  light. 

She  looked  up  as  he  passed,  clasping  still  her 


228  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

flowers.  A  hansom  approached  from  the  oppo- 
site direction,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  be- 
tween the  two  teams,  the  old  ragpicker  plodded 
along  towards  her.  As  the  wagon  came  abreast 
the  woman,  the  dog,  by  some  instinct  peculiar  to 
himself,  or  the  result  of  his  master's  training, 
with  a  growl  and  bark  dashed  from  between  the 
horses  and  sprang  towards  the  woman.  She  gave 
a  frightened  cry  and  fell  back  a  pace,  directly  in 
front  of  the  hansom  and  under  the  feet  of  the 
horse. 

The  driver  held  back,  but  he  was  not  quick 
enough  ;  the  woman  lay  prone  before  him.  The 
drayman  called  angrily  to  his  dog,  sprang  to  the 
ground,  and  gave  him  a  vicious  kick  that  sent 
him  howling  between  the  wheels. 

The  two  men  were  trying  to  raise  her  as  Bar- 
bara reached  them.  Soon  her  asters  were  on  the 
ground  and  she  on  her  knees  in  the  dust,  trying 
with  her  white  apron  to  stanch  the  flow  from  an 
ugly  wound  in  the  woman's  head.  She  was  un- 
conscious; and  as  they  raised  her  slightly  her 
arm  hung  limp  from  the  shoulder. 

"  Be  careful !  oh  be  careful !  Let  me  help. 
Bring  her  to  my  home ;  I  will  care  for  her.  Will 
she  die  ?" 

"  Better  lug  her  right  to  the  hospital,"  said 
the  rough  drayman.  "She  may  die;  it's  bad 
enough.  You  can't  do  anything,"  looking  with 


MISSION   OF  THE  WILD   FLOWERS.  22Q 

a  show  of  scorn  upon  the  trim  little  figure  kneel- 
ing at  his  feet. 

"  What  can  be  done  ?" 

"  Put  her  in  your  carriage  and  get  her  there 
quick,"  he  said  to  the  driver  of  the  hansom. 

"  No  indeed,  man  ;  she  11  die  before  I  get  her 
there.  Take  her  yourself ;  't  was  your  brute  of 
a  dog  did  it." 

"  I  tell  you  your  brute  of  a  horse  stepped  on 
her.  If  you  do  n't  get  her  there  quicker  'n  light- 
ning, I'll  have  the  law  on  you." 

"  Do,  do  take  her  quickly.  I  '11  go  and  help 
you.  Get  her  in  quickly  ;  it  is  not  far.  Do  it,  I 
say." 

"You '11  go  along,  miss,  and  explain ?" 

"Yes,  yes ;  I  told  you  so.     Be  gentle." 

They  were  as  careful  as  they  knew  how  to 
be.  Barbara  got  into  the  carriage  just  as  she 
was,  the  stained  apron  bound  about  the  woman's 
head,  which  she  held  in  her  lap  as  tenderly  as 
she  would  had  it  been  that  of  the  daintiest  lady 
in  the  city. 

" Go  quickly ;  don't  jar,"  as  he  shut  the  door 
upon  the  two,  saying  to  the  other  man, 

"  They  can't  say  I  killed  her." 

"  No  fear,  man ;  get  along  as  quick  as  you 
can,  and  stop  your  blarney ;  she  might  be  dead 
now  by  the  looks  of  her." 

There  was  no  delay ;  they  went  rapidly.   The 


230  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

motion  seemed  to  rouse  her  at  last.  She  sighed 
and  groaned  as  they  turned  into  the  driveway 
and  stopped  before  the  entrance  of  the  great 
stone  building.  Attendants  immediately  ap- 
peared and  took  her  in  out  of  sight. 

"  Speak  fair  for  me,  miss.  I  '11  take  you  safe 
home."  He  was  uneasy. 

"You  were  not  to  blame;  it  was  the  dog," 
she  answered.  "  Yes,  I  will  go  back  with  you  in 
a  moment." 

"  Take  your  time,  miss ;  I  'd  wait  the  day  long 
for  you.  Just  let  them  understand  it  was  entirely 
an  accident." 

She  went  in,  meaning  to  see  Maggie.  Through 
the  hall  and  over  the  stairs  to  the  children's  ward 
she  went  with  swift  feet.  The  nurses  knew  her, 
for  she  was  a  frequent  visitor.  She  met  Maggie 
at  the  door,  tray  in  hand,  for  some  late  sleeper. 
A  quick  greeting,  and, 

"  Come  with  me,  Bab ;  I  've  a  dear  little  fellow 
up  here.  He  has  slept  till  now.  I  'm  giving  him 
a  late  breakfast.  But  what  started  you  so  early  ?" 

Barbara  told  her  of  the  accident,  adding, 

"  I  wish  you  'd  let  me  know,  Maggie,  how  she 
gets  on  ;  I  'm  interested  in  her.  It 's  an  old  rag- 
gatherer,  the  one  who  found  Hale  and  little  May 
that  night.  Do  you  remember  ?" 

"  Yes ;  strange  you  should  run  across  her 
again.  I  '11  follow  her  up  and  let  you  know. 


MISSION   OF  THE  WILD   FLOWERS.          231 

But  look  here,  what  do  you  think  of  those 
eyes?"  pointing  to  a  child  whose  waxen  face 
was  lighted  by  eyes  so  black  and  large  they  al- 
most blazed. 

"  Gazing  into  futurity !    Wonderful !" 

"  Not  a  bit,  only  hungry.  Wants  his  break- 
fast, bless  him  !" 

Deftly  arranging  a  napkin  and  sitting  by  his 
side,  she  fed  him.  His  silent  lips  were  pressed 
with  desire,  his  whole  face  eloquent  with  un- 
spoken longing. 

"  Poor  famished  little  fellow,  let  him  have 
all  he  wants !  Let  him  drink  it,  Maggie." 

Maggie  smiled. 

"  Not  yet,  Bab ;  we  must  be  careful  for  a  little." 

"  He  has  been  very  ill  ?" 

"  Hardly  saved  him.  He 's  coming  back  slow- 
ly ;  he  will  live,  the  pretty  boy,"  she  sighed. 

"  You  are  tired,  Maggie." 

"  A  little.  This  has  been  a  pull.  I  would  n't 
leave  him ;  but  the  worry 's  over.  He 's  so  wakeful. 
I  wish  you  'd  brought  a  flower  or  something." 

"  I  will,  this  very  afternoon.  I  should  so  like 
to  help.  Wild  flowers  ?" 

"  Any  little  thing  to  take  his  thoughts.  A 
bunch  of  grass  amuses  them  for  hours." 

"  I  '11  remember.  Now  I  must  go ;  the  man 's 
waiting." 

He  would  have  waited  all  day  for  the  ener- 


232  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

getic  maid  in  the  quiet  gingham  frock  and  straw 
hat  who  had  helped  him  out  of  what  he  con- 
sidered a  desperate  scrape. 

Maggie's  fitness  for  the  work  she  had  chosen 
showed  itself  in  every  department  to  which  she 
was  called,  eminently  in  her  labor  among  the 
children.  She  loved  them.  She  felt  equal  to 
the  task  of  ministering  to  their  minds,  of  under- 
standing their  characteristics,  of  coming  down 
to  their  level,  making  herself  a  child  with  them 
and  delighting  herself  in  their  responsive  love. 
She  felt  that  God  had  chosen  her  work  for  her, 
and  she  tried  to  do  it  faithfully,  hoping  only  for 
his  approval.  There  was  no  time  that  day  for 
Barbara's  painting.  The  bunch  of  asters  was  for- 
gotten as  she  hastened  the  noon  duties  prepara- 
tory to  her  afternoon  expedition  in  search  of 
flowers  for  Maggie's  little  patients.  The  dinner 
hour  passed  with  the  recital  of  the  morning  ad- 
venture to  her  father,  and  basket  in  hand  she 
turned  from  the  door  just  as  Jack  drove  up  fol- 
lowed by  Jip. 

"Where  are  you  bound,  Barbara?" 
"  After  wild  flowers,"  turning  a  bright  face 
towards  him. 

"  I  'm  just  in  time  to  help ;  will  you  ride  ?" 
"  That  will  be  delightful,  thank  you.     Then 
you  can  go  with  me  to  the  hospital  and  help 
trim  Maggie's  ward." 


MISSION   OF   THE   WILD    FLOWERS.  233 

"  That 's  the  game,  is  it  ?  Just  what  I  like. 
How  does  she  get  on  with  the  little  shavers  ?" 

"  She  delights  in  it,  and  they  worship  her. 
It 's  a  beautiful  work,  and  Maggie  is  full  of  en- 
thusiasm. She  is  ready  to  give  her  life  to  it. 
She  has  found  her  vocation  without  a  doubt." 

"And  you?" 

"  Mine  came  long  ago.   It 's  father,  you  know." 

"  I  hear  you  are  painting.  I  'd  like  to  see  your 
work." 

"  Not  much  to  show,  Jack.  I  love  to  mix  it 
with  my  other  work ;  father  likes  it  too.  He 
often  brings  me  a  flower  or  an  odd  spray  of 
leaves ;  one  day  an  empty  nest  fastened  to  a 
twig.  I  made  a  little  sketch  of  it,  and  he  has 
framed  it  for  himself,  he  says.  To-day  I  must  get 
all  the  bright  things  I  can ;  the  children  have 
so  little  to  help  them  forget  their  pain." 

"  You  are  a  kind  of  ministering  spirit,  Bar- 
bara, do  you  know?" 

"Only  to  father.  I  don't  know  what  we 
should  do  without  each  other." 

"  I  'd  like  to  find  duty  as  fascinating ;  but  it 's 
a  detestable  word  sometimes  to  me." 

"  Oh  no,  Jack ;  that 's  not  your  trouble." 

"  Explain,  if  you  can.  I  'd  tackle  the  enemy 
and  throttle  him  if  I  knew  where  to  find  him." 

"  I  think  the  difference  lies  here,  my  duties 
are  agreeable ;  I  love  them  and  they  come  easy, 


234  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

while  yours  are  difficult,  and  require  a  strong 
will  and  determination  to  master — just  the  qual- 
ities you  need  to  have,  Jack.  After  you  conquer 
yourself  there'll  be  no  trouble;  and  duty  will 
have  a  pleasant  sound,  because  it  helps  to  make 
the  very  best  of  our  lives." 

"  I  suppose  so ;  but  all  the  same  I  hate  the 
confounded  work  that 's  cut  out  for  me." 

"  The  more  hateful  it  is  the  more  force  you 
exercise  to  accomplish  the  result,  don't  you 
see  ?  and  you  grow  strong  in  the  battle,  as  men 
should.  If  everything  was  pleasant  and  easy 
where  would  be  the  discipline  that  builds  up  a 
vigorous,  noble  manhood  ?  I  'm  glad  you  must 
work  harder  than  you  like,  Jack,  for  you  need  it 
more  than  some." 

"Thanks;  your  frankness  is  refreshing.  What 
a  little  preacher  you  are." 

"  I  often  think  of  these  things,  Jack,  when  I 
am  alone,  waiting  for  father.  I  think  of  him. 
Men  must  work  and  battle  for  right  all  their 
days.  The  world  would  be  beautiful  if  all  men 
did  so."  Her  eyes  looked  far  off  and  dreamy. 

"  And  you  girls,  have  you  no  part  in  the  strife  ?" 

"Ah  yes;  women  must  be  patient;  mother 
was,  and  so  willing  to  bear  everything.  We 
must  be  brave  and  happy  for  those  we  love. 
Your  mother  is  so?" 

"  None  more  so.    Little  mother !    I  suppose 


MISSION  OF  THE  WILD   FLOWERS.  235 

she  bears  more  than  she  reveals.  Yes,  you  are 
patient  too ;  more  than  I  could  be.  Do  you  ever 
see  Nellie  ?" 

She  understood  the  connection,  but  made  no 
sign. 

"  Not  often  since  we  left  school."  She  told 
him  of  the  morning's  accident,  and  as  they  drove 
round  the  mountain  road  pointed  out  to  him  the 
straggling,  winding  path  among  the  bushes 
that  she  had  followed. 

They  soon  found  places  where  golden-rod  and 
asters  grew  in  rank  luxuriance,  and  farther 
along,  climbing  on  fence  rail  and  stone  wall, 
graceful  sprays  of  white  clematis,  still  in  flower. 
They  filled  the  basket  and  piled  the  carriage 
full — enough  for  more  than  one  ward,  Barbara 
said,  glowing  with  satisfaction. 

"  If  we  go  round  the  mountain  and  home  the 
other  way,  there  are  crowds  of  sweet-scented 
clover  on  that  road." 

"Oh  we  will.  I  do  want  some  to  paint. 
How  kind  to  think  of  it.  Let  us  hurry." 

They  drove  rapidly.  Jack  was  quiet.  Bar- 
bara's honest  words  had  more  weight  with  him 
than  he  would  acknowledge  to  himself. 

"  You  are  going  back  to  college,  Jack  ?" 

"  Yes,  when  term  begins." 

"  I  'm  glad  of  that."  It  was  neither  the  words 
nor  tone  that  nettled  him.  He  hardly  knew  just 


236  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

what  it  implied.  Did  she  think  he  had  been 
expelled  or  that  he  was  more  unworthy  than  he 
felt  himself  to  be?  He  wanted  to  stand  well 
with  her.  He  did  n't  know  why.  She  had  no 
influence  in  the  circle  in  which  he  moved.  She 
was  nothing  to  him ;  Nellie  still  sneered  disa- 
greeably when  she  was  mentioned.  But  there 
was  an  undefined  charm  about  her ;  in  what  it 
consisted  he  could  not  tell.  Was  it  her  face? 
It  was  beautiful ;  but  it  was  not  in  the  face 
alone.  Her  manner  of  speech  or  words?  She 
was  happy  in  conversation,  quick  and  bright, 
nothing  more.  He  mused  long.  "  She  is  good 
and  true,"  he  said  at  last,  and  there  is  a  charm  in 
pure  goodness  that  wealth  may  not  purchase  or 
learning  simulate.  He  thought  he  had  solved 
the  mystery.  There  lay  the  secret  charm. 

"Did  you  think  I  was  out  of  college  for 
good  ?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

"I  should  n't  like  to  think  it  not  for  good," 
laughing. 

"  I  have  n't  perpetrated  any  crime,  Barbara. 
I  did  n't  keep  up  to  the  requirements.  I  wanted 
a  good  time — and — " 

"You  had  it?"  she  asked  quietly. 

"  Well,  I  do  n't  enjoy  this  part  of  it.  And 
I  *m  going  in  for  hard  work  next  year." 

"  I  'm  so  glad,"  with  a  happy  ring  to  her 
voice. 


MISSION   OF  THE  WILD   FLOWERS.          237 

"  Glad !  You  're  a  queer  friend.  Glad  I  'm 
going  away ;  glad  I  Ve  got  to  work  day  and 
night.  That 's  comforting  to  a  fellow,  to  say  the 
least." 

"  I  only  mean — you  do  n't  understand  me.  I 
wont  be  disagreeable,  Jack,  but  it's  better  to 
buckle  right  down,  as  you  say,  and  come  out 
with  honor.  You  don't  want  to  be  like  that 
stray  leaf,  blown  anywhere,  perhaps  down  hill 
before  you  know  it.  It  will  be  grand  for  you  to 
do  right  and  overcome.  I  suppose  it  is  hard, 
and  it  ought  to  be  ;  knowledge  is  not  like  a  for- 
tune, that  can  come  as  a  gift.  You  must  work 
for  it.  And  it 's  so  much  better  than  money. 
If  you  wait  for  the  crowd  to  knock  you  into 
shape,  you  might  as  well  be  a  lump  of  putty, 
nothing  more." 

"  You  're  right,  but  every  one  is  grinding  it 
into  me.  I  suppose  I  need  it." 

Again  her  merry  laugh  rang  out.  It  was 
contagious,  and  Jack's  ill-humor  vanished. 

They  reached  the  hospital.  Jack  fastened 
his  pony,  told  Jip  to  watch  the  carriage,  took  the 
basket  and  followed  Barbara. 

"  Where  do  you  go?    Shall  I  be  intruding?" 

"  Perhaps  I  'd  better  ask  the  matron  ;  I  do  n't 
know  about  gentlemen  visitors.  Wait  a  little  in 
here,"  showing  him  into  a  small  reception-room, 
where  he  drummed  softly  on  the  piano  and  pon- 


238  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

dered  the  not  very  complimentary  words  of  his 
friend. 

"After  all,"  he  said  to  himself,  "mother's 
faith  in  me  is  worth  more  than  the  opinions  of 
all  the  rest.  I  do  n't  care  what  they  think ;  I  '11 
live  for  mother." 

When  a  boy  makes  that  promise,  with  an 
honest  purpose,  it  is  a  long  step  towards  living 
for  God. 

Maggie  broke  in  upon  his  revery. 

"Come  up;  my  children  are  ready  to  re- 
ceive. I  'm  glad  to  see  you,  Jack ;  and  the  flow- 
ers, oh  they  are  too  lovely !  Barbara  has  gone 
right  to  work  banking  them  all  over  the  mantel. 
It  was  so  nice  in  her  to  think  of  it.  It  will  be  a 
real  festival  for  my  little  people.  Come  right 
in,  Jack.  Oh  no,  it  wont  trouble  them.  They  're 
used  to  callers.  We  have  some  every  day.  This 
is  the  convalescent  ward.  One  little  fellow,  that 
one,  is  picking  up  fast." 

"  What  eyes !     The  biggest  part  of  his  face." 

"  Yes,  wonderful,  a  dear  little  fellow.  Give 
him  a  flower,  Jack,  and  see  him  look  at  it." 

"  Startling,  upon  my  word.  Do  n't  you  get 
nervous  and  think  they  '11  die  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  they  're  a  happy  little  people,  only 
when  they  suffer,  poor  things." 

"  I  promised  to  help  Barbara."  He  turned 
towards  her.  The  whole  fireplace  was  trans- 


MISSION   OF  THE   WILD   FLOWERS.  239 

formed :  a  bank  of  spruce  boughs  filled  the  space, 
with  clusters  of  golden-rod  interspersed  ;  and  in 
front  asters  gleamed  from  the  dark  background 
like  stars  in  an  evening  sky.  On  the  mantel 
above  fell  long  festoons  of  clematis  from  a  mass 
of  sweet  clover. 

"  Barby,  no  one  in  the  world  could  do  that 
but  you.  How  perfectly  lovely  !" 

"Think  so,  Maggie?  Jack,  just  throw  this 
over  that  picture-frame,  please." 

Little  cries  of  delighted  appreciation  from  the 
children  filled  the  room. 

"  Now  every  little  one  must  have  a  bunch  of 
clover,  then  I  must  go." 

As  they  finished  and  were  turning  away  from 
the  happy  children,  a  lady  entered,  of  fine  ap- 
pearance, elegantly  dressed. 

"  I  have  brought  some  fruit  for  you,  nurse," 
she  said,  addressing  Maggie.  "  I  left  it  in  the 
ante-room.  How  beautifully  the  flowers  are  ar- 
ranged. What  exquisite  taste!  Who  did  it? 
Ah,  Mr.  Ellis,  this  is  your  work.  I  'm  glad  you 
are  so  benevolently  inclined." 

Jack  bowed  with  deference,  disclaiming  any 
part  in  the  adornment. 

"  It 's  the  work  of  my  friend,  Miss  Allen,  Mrs. 
St.  John." 

"  You  have  made  an  ideal  picture  for  the  lit> 
tie  ones,  Miss  Allen  ;  it 's  a  charming  success." 


240  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

"  Thank  you.     I  love  to  do  it." 

"  One  would  know  that." 

Barbara  threw  kisses  to  the  children  as  she 
left,  which  they  gleefully  returned. 

Turning  to  Maggie,  Mrs.  St.  John  asked, 

"  Who  is  she  ?   She  is  beautiful." 

"  Yes,  she  is  indeed.  She 's  a  natural  artist ; 
her  tastes  all  tend  that  way.  She  is  an  old 
schoolmate  of  Mr.  Ellis'." 

"  Allen  !    Strange  I  have  never  met  her." 

"  Not  at  all,  Mrs.  St.  John  ;  they  live  beyond 
the  city  a  little  and  are  in  quite  humble  circum- 
stances." 

"  A  farmer,  then." 

"  No,  her  father  is  a  carpenter,  quite  poor. 
She  has  no  mother.  She  paints  a  little  and 
keeps  house  for  her  father.  We  all  love 
her." 

"  Only  a  carpenter.  She  looked  like  an  em- 
bodied poem.  I  must  know  her." 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  St.  John,  Barbara  is  more  than 
that.  She 's  a  royal  daughter  of  the  King." 

"  You  are  a  stanch  friend.  Does  she  sell  her 
sketches?" 

"She  hasn't  yet,  but  she  would,  I  know,  be 
glad  to  ;  I  wish  she  could  find  a  way.  She  makes 
the  most  exquisite  little  studies  for  decorating 
everything,  and  they  ought  to  be  a  help  to 
her." 


MISSION  OF  THE  WILD  FLOWERS.         24! 

"  I  see.  Some  of  my  young  friends  might 
like  them  for  their  china.  I  will  call  on  her,  if 
you  can  give  me  her  address." 

"  Gladly.  I  do  hope  you  will.  Oh,  Mrs.  St. 
John,  you  have  been  so  kind  to  me  and  my  ba- 
bies, I  wish  you  could  help  Barbara  on  a  little. 
We  do  want  her  to  do  great  things.  She  's  had 
so  little  help." 

"  If  her  friends  are  all  as  devoted  as  you  are, 
she  will  not  fail.  I  will  certainly  call." 

The  lady  took  the  address,  and  a  few  morn- 
ings after,  Barbara  was  surprised  to  see  a  carriage 
draw  up  to  the  door,  and  the  same  lady  she  met 
at  the  hospital  alight.  The  knocker  sounded, 
and  Barbara  invited  her  guest  to  enter  with  the 
shy  grace  so  natural  to  her. 

"  Miss  Allen,  would  you  show  me  some  of 
your  studies,  and  let  me  talk  with  you  a  little  of 
the  things  we  both  love  ?" 

"  I  should  be  so  happy,"  flushing  with  pleased 
wonder. 

They  went  to  the  tiny  room ;  Barbara  drew 
her  father's  large  rocker  before  the  window. 

"  Why,  child,  this  is  charming  !" 

The  walls  were  covered  with  little  sketches 
of  wood  and  field  and  swamp :  rocks  with  vines 
trailing  over  them,  banks  of  moss  with  ferns 
springing  about  them,  a  touch  of  sunset  glory, 
little  gems  of  rural  beauty  in  monochrome,  with 

What  Oirla  can  Do.  1 6 


242  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

rich,  delicious  summer  coloring  or  with  fatflt 
spring  tints — all  showing  the  true  appreciation 
of  beauty,  the  real  loving  hand.  Each  panel  of 
the  old  door  was  covered  with  a  picture  from  the 
very  heart  of  nature,  and  all  so  original  and 
purely  artistic.  She  looked  searchingly  at  every- 
thing, then  turning  to  the  gratified  girl,  who  had 
spread  a  portfolio  of  studies  upon  the  stand  and 
stood  beside  them  inquiringly,  she  said, 

"  My  dear,  I  have  come  to  ask  a  favor.  I 
need  your  help." 

Barbara's  pretty  head  nodded  slightly  and 
she  bent  towards  her  assentingly.  Nothing  could 
make  her  happier  than  to  be  of  use.  The  very 
words  appealed  to  her :  she  was  needed. 

"  I  am  to  have  a  few  friends  next  week, 
Wednesday  evening,  and  I  want  my  rooms  trim- 
med with  flowers.  The  children's  ward  showed 
me  who  could  do  it.  Is  it  asking  too  much? 
You  shall  have  all  the  help  you  need,  and  I  will 
leave  it  entirely  to  your  own  exquisite  taste. 
Will  you  do  it  for  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  should  delight  to  do  it." 

"  Thank  you.  That  is  very  nice."  How  gra- 
ciously some  natures  can  confer  benefits. 

"  Now  will  you  let  me  purchase  a  few  of  your 
studies  for  a  friend  who  is  fond  of  china  paint- 
ing ?  and  I  must  say  she  does  good  work  for  an 
amateur." 


MISSION  OF  THE  WILD   FLOWERS.          243 

She  selected  twelve,  asking  what  she  should 
pay  for  them. 

"  Oh  I  do  n't  know ;  I  have  never  sold  any. 
They  are  not  worth  much." 

"  Yes  they  are ;  worth  more  than  the  pretty 
prints  we  find  at  the  art  stores.  And  you  must 
put  a  fair  price  on  your  work,  my  dear.  Let  me 
give  you  for  these  a  dollar  apiece ;  they  are  worth 
it,  and  if  you  like  I  can  find  purchasers  for  you." 

"  It  is  too  much  !"  gasped  Barbara. 

"  Not  at  all ;  I  am  not  sure  it  is  enough.  Now 
will  you  come  with  me  and  look  at  the  rooms 
and  make  your  plans  ?  I  'd  like  each  room  dif- 
ferent, and  everything  right  from  the  heart  of 
nature." 

Barbara  was  soon  ready  and  driving  with  this 
new  friend  towards  the  city. 

The  elegant  home  was  not  so  bewildering  to 
her  as  Clare's  had  been  two  years  before.  She 
went  from  room  to  room,  studied  the  possibili- 
ties of  each,  questioned  and  suggested,  and  at 
last  promised  to  do  the  best  she  could. 

"And  that,"  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  "will  be  per- 
fection. What  can  I  do  to  forward  it  and  help  ?" 

"  I  must  have  four  large  baskets,  and  come 
here  Tuesday  and  Wednesday  afternoons,  with  a 
man  to  help  me  ;  that  is  all." 

"  You  dear  child,  what  a  help  you  are  to  me. 
It  will  be  beautiful,  I  am  sure.  And  after  this 


244  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

affair  is  off  our  hands  I  shall  buy  more  of  your 
little  water-colors.  The  cardinal  flower,  as  you 
arranged  it  among  the  swamp  grasses,  is  charm- 
ing, and  the  gentian  ;  then  the  one  you  made  of 
lichens,  partridge-berry,  and  mosses.  I  shall  want 
more  as  soon  as  my  friends  see  these." 

They  parted,  Barbara  to  dream  of  spacious 
rooms  adorned  with  all  the  treasure  of  the  wild- 
woods,  and  Mrs.  St.  John  planning  to  encourage 
and  support  the  young  artist  in  her  work.  She 
was  entirely  won  by  the  purity  and  charm  of 
Barbara's  unaffected  manner,  her  enthusiastic 
love  of  the  beautiful,  her  spontaneous,  almost 
childlike  delight  in  her  own  efforts. 

Mr.  Allen  coming  home  at  night  was  struck 
by  Barbara's  air  of  suppressed  excitement,  her 
quick,  nervous  manner  of  preparing  supper  and 
of  finishing  up  the  evening  work.  There  was 
something  to  be  told,  he  was  sure  of  it ;  and 
something  pleasant  too.  He  knew  well  the  look 
of  satisfaction  in  her  face  that  could  not  be  con- 
cealed, the  air  of  half  pride  that  told  of  success, 
the  note  of  triumph  in  her  voice  that  it  was  not 
in  human  nature  to  hide. 

So  perfect  was  the  sympathy  between  them, 
so  closely  were  their  lives  linked  together,  so 
much  was  the  character  of  each  in  harmony  with 
that  of  the  other,  that  when  all  was  done,  the 
last  dish  was  put  away  and  the  last  step  taken, 


MISSION  OF  THE  WILD  FLOWERS.          24$ 

he  drew  her  little  chair  beside  his  own,  and  hold- 
ing out  his  hand,  said, 

"  Tell  me  now,  Bab,  what  good  thing  has 
come  to-day." 

"  I  was  never  so  happy  in  my  life,  father." 
"  I  knew  it.  What  has  happened  ?" 
Then  she  beamed  upon  him,  eager  to  have 
him  know  and  understand  her  exquisite  happi- 
ness— the  wonderfully  kind  new  friend,  the 
great  house  with  its  grand  rooms  given  over  to 
her  own  simple  powers  and  weak  hands  to  deco- 
rate ;  and  only  with  her  own  wild  flowers.  Ah, 
but  she  felt  the  possibility  within.  She  knew 
just  how  she  would  have  it  look,  from  the  very 
entrance  through  each  beautiful  space.  Her 
dainty  pets  should  tell  their  sweet  story  to  those 
who  scarcely  knew  them.  She  would  find  new 
treasures  every  day.  She  must  have  all  her  time 
for  gathering  and  studying  and  copying.  "  I 
can't  give  you  any  more  time  for  a  week  than 
when  I  went  to  school  all  day.  We  '11  have  to 
go  back  to  the  baker's  bread  and  simple  diet  for 
a  while,  and  I  shall  take  up  my  trade  as  well  as 
you,  mon  ptre" 

He  laughed  and  told  her  he  was  proud  of  her 
success  and  rejoiced  in  her  happiness,  would 
be  willing  to  live  on  pea-soup,  rice,  and  onions  for 
a  month  that  she  might  make  a  fair  start  in  the 
new  work. 


246  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

"  No,  papa,  we  '11  not  go  back  to  those  days." 

"  There  '11  be  no  competition,  Bab  ;  you  '11 
have  the  field  to  yourself.  We  '11  soon  be  able 
to  buy  a  strip  of  land  outside  somewhere  and 
put  up  a  bit  of  a  house,  at  this  rate,  my  little  wo- 
man." 

"  We  will,  father.  And  I  '11  have  a  studio  on 
the  lower  floor,  with  water  brought  in  and  basins 
set  for  my  wild  flowers,  and  places  all  lined 
with  zinc  for  my  ferns.  Oh  delicious!" 

"She  paid  you  generously  for  the  trifles, 
child." 

"  Ah,  but  she  did  n't  call  them  trifles,  though 
it  was  too  much,  I  'm  sure." 

"What  then?" 

"  Works  of  art !  Think  of  it,  twelve  whole 
dollars !  The  first  I  ever  earned.  I  must  have 
a  bank  book.  1 11  save  every  penny  for  the  lit- 
tle studio,  and  wont  we  be  happy !  But — oh, 
father — "  The  beaming  face  was  overcast,  the 
brown  eyes  swimming ;  her  head  fell  on  his  arm. 
He  held  her  close  a  moment. 

"  I  hope  she  knows  it,  Bab.  Sometimes  I 
imagine  her  very  near." 

"  And  I,  papa.  I  was  thinking  that  she 
taught  it  all  to  me.  I  never  should  have  loved 
the  sweet  things  but  for  her,  you  know.  They 
make  the  world  so  beautiful  and  my  heart  so 
happy." 


MISSION   OF   THE  WILD   FLOWERS.  247 

"  Get  the  Book,  child.  We  11  read  a  bit,  and 
to  bed." 

Barbara  lighted  a  small  lamp  and  placed  it 
beside  the  old,  much-worn  Bible  upon  a  stand 
near,  the  mother's  stand.  The  book  always 
rested  there.  "Why  take  ye  thought  for  rai- 
ment? Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field.  They 
toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin;  and  yet  I  say 
unto  you  that  even  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was 
not  arrayed  like  one  of  these.  Wherefore,  if 
God  so  clothe  the  grass  of  the  field,  which  to-day 
is,  and  to-morrow  is  cast  into  the  oven,  shall  he 
not  much  more  clothe  you,  O  ye  of  little  faith !" 


248  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

NATURE  AND   ART. 

WHEN  Maggie  found  time  to  make  inquiries 
she  learned  that  the  rag-picker's  arm  had  been 
fractured  between  the  elbow  and  shoulder.  She 
was  still  unconscious  fro.  .  the  blow  on  the  head 
from  the  forefoot  of  the  horse  that  threw  her 
down.  There  was  little  to  build  on.  She  might 
come  out  of  it  and  recover,  or  sink  away  without 
regaining  consciousness.  Maggie  could  do  noth- 
ing. She  had  the  best  of  care,  and  absorbed  in 
her  own  more  interesting  charge  the  case  almost 
passed  from  her  mind.  The  boy  who  had  given 
her  so  much  anxiety  was  convalescing  rapidly, 
and  a  night  or  two  of  entire  rest  had  made  her 
brisk  and  vigorous  as  ever.  She  was  a  great 
favorite  with  all  connected  with  the  institution, 
especially  her  sister  nurses.  She  had  such  a 
fund  of  good  nature  and  common  sense,  was  so 
quick  of  hand  and  foot  when  needed,  so  strong 
of  nerve  when  cases  came  up  that  the  boldest 
sometimes  shrank  from  ;  she  never  faltered,  but 
met  them  with  courage  and  endurance.  Her 
nerves  seemed  steel-clad  and  every  muscle  obe- 
dient to  an  unflinching  will.  The  surgeons  with 


NATURE   AND   ART.  249 

whom  she  sometimes  worked  hardly  believed 
she  was  the  same  bright  spirit  whom  they  had 
met  in  the  pleasant  grounds  and  on  the  lawn, 
frolicking  with  her  fragile  little  sufferers  and 
tenderly  devoting  herself  to  their  pleasure  ;  none 
more  gentle  and  yielding  than  the  noble-hearted 
girl,  none  with  more  firmness  when  to  yield 
would  have  been  cruelty  in  its  consequences. 

The  woman  lingered  from  day  to  day,  at 
moments  partially  roused  and  muttering  frag- 
ments of  sentences  connected  with  her  past  life, 
they  thought. 

There  came  a  time  when  the  night  nurse 
needed  help,  and  Maggie  was  called  upon.  Al- 
ways ready  to  fill  an  empty  space,  she  responded 
heartily.  There  was  in  her  make-up  a  reserve 
force  for  any  emergency,  and  on  this  night  she 
took  her  place  among  the  more  serious  cases 
where  vigilant  care  was  imperatively  demanded. 
Her  duties  were  plain.  There  were  but  few 
patients,  the  old  woman  demanding  the  most 
attention. 

In  the  dim  light  of  the  long  ward  and  the 
impressive  stillness  of  the  night  as  it  wore  on 
Maggie,  sitting  by  her  side,  felt  a  strange  sense 
of  companionship  that  she  knew  must  be  purely 
imaginary.  Her  little  patients  never  affected 
her  so.  She  smoothed  the  straggling  gray  locks 
from  the  pinched  face  and  moistened  the  dry 


2$0  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

lips.  She  wished  she  would  open  her  eyes,  if 
only  for  a  moment.  The  attentions,  small  as 
they  were,  seemed  grateful  to  the  woman ;  she 
moved  a  hand  slightly  and  muttered.  Was  she 
waking?  Would  she  ever  wake  again?  Did 
she  know  anything  of  the  infinite  Love  that  was 
holding  her  there  between  life  and  death  ?  Had 
she  any  friends  ?  Oh  how  many  questions  Mag- 
gie asked  herself  as  her  gaze  rested  on  the 
drawn,  livid  face.  Suddenly  the  eyes  opened, 
great  wild  eyes,  and  she  startled  her  nurse  with 
the  words, 

"  Don't,  Sal.  What  use  to  kill  the  brat,  Sal, 
you  fool!" 

Maggie  started  like  one  shot.  In  an  instant 
she  was  back  to  her  childhood,  to  her  early  tor- 
mentor, to  the  creature  who  must  have  known 
her  origin  and  concealed  it  from  her.  And  this 
woman  knew  the  story,  knew  the  terrible  drunk- 
en creature  who  had  made  her  childish  years  a 
torture,  who  had  blotted  from  her  memory  by 
years  of  abuse  all  knowledge  of  her  history,  of 
the  mother  she  might  have  lovingly  remem- 
bered. Would  she  die  ?  God  forbid ! 

A  few  drops  of  a  stimulant  were  given,  the 
pillows  carefully  rearranged,  the  restless  hands 
quieted,  and  Maggie  prayed  that  she  might  live. 

She  inquired  later  if  the  nurse  had  ever 
heard  her  speak  in  this  manner  before. 


NATURE  AND  ART.  251 

"Yes,  she  often  speaks  of  Sal,  calls  her  a 
drunken  brute,  and  threatens  her.  There  seems 
to  be  a  child  too  she  's  interested  in.  But  that 's 
not  unusual ;  such  cases  are  often  delirious." 

"  Do  all  you  can  to  save  her.  I  '11  help  you 
when  I  'm  off  duty,  if  you  need." 

"Thanks.  Poor  old  thing,  I  doubt  if  she 
pulls  through." 

"She  must.  Watch  her.  Let  me  help.  I'll 
watch  any  night.  I  'm  strong  and  my  little  fel- 
lows are  doing  splendidly." 

"  Every  one  does  that  has  anything  to  do 
with  you.  You  must  impart  your  own  superflu- 
ous life  to  help  out  theirs." 

"  I  wonder  if  there 's  anything  in  it.  I  'd 
give  months  of  my  life  to  save  hers." 

"  Why  ?    You  are  a  queer  child." 

An  hour  of  sleep,  a  refreshing  bath,  and  a 
good  breakfast  fitted  Maggie  for  her  day's  work. 

That  day  Aunt  Clarissa  came  into  the  city. 
At  such  times  she  never  failed  to  spend  an  hour 
at  the  hospital  and  take  Maggie  back  with  her 
to  Mrs.  Hamlin's  to  dinner.  For  a  few  hours 
she  must  have  an  entire  change  of  scene. 

"  I  want  you  to  come  into  the  surgical  ward 
with  me,  auntie,  before  we  go.  Let  me  get  per- 
mission." 

"  No,  child ;  I  like  these  jolly  little  conva- 
lescents better.  I  never  could  abide  cutting.'* 


2$2  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

"  There 's  nothing  of  that  sort  there  now.  I 
want  to  tell  you  something  and  show  you  an  old 
woman  there." 

"  Well,  have  your  own  way.  How  much  do 
you  want?  I  '11  trust  you." 

"  This  is  n't  a  case  for  money.  She  does  n't 
need  anything  now;  but  I  watched  her  last 
night.  She  interested  me." 

Then  she  told  the  story,  from  which  she  re- 
called the  vague  impressions  and  dreams  that 
still  came  sometimes  when  sleep  was  coy  or 
light. 

"  Why  have  you  never  told  me  before  ?" 

"  You  might  have  thought  me  silly  ;  perhaps 
I  am." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  But  I  want  you  to  get  per- 
mission  to  come  home  for  a  day  as  soon  as  you 
can.  I  Ve  something  to  show  you." 

"  Connected  with  this  ?    Oh,  auntie  !" 

"  There,  be  quiet,  child.  If  this  woman  lives 
we  may  learn  something.  No  matter  whether 
we  do  or  not,  be  sure,  my  child,  there  is  nothing 
for  you  to  know  that  will  bring  a  throb  of  any- 
thing but  content ;  I  'm  sure  of  that."  4 

"  1 11  try  and  go  back  with  you,  auntie,  for 
the  night." 

She  made  arrangements.  There  were  others 
to  take  her  place,  and  few  but  were  glad  to  ac- 
commodate her. 


NATURE  AND   ART.  253 

After  showing  the  sick  woman  to  her  aunt 
they  went  together  to  Mr.  Hamlin's. 

In  the  afternoon  the  three  girls  called  on 
Barbara.  She  had  spent  the  whole  morning  in 
the  woods.  Great  masses  of  ferns  were  packed 
in  damp  places,  beautiful  mosses  placed  in  sha- 
dy spots  and  sprinkled ;  pans  of  delicate  wild 
things,  roots  and  all,  were  waiting  for  her  plea- 
sure. The  girls  were  delighted  when  they  heard 
of  her  good  fortune. 

"  Now,  Bab,  you  precious  little  enthusiast,  I 
can  return  your  kindness.  I'm  going  home 
with  auntie.  Don't  you  want  me  to  get  you 
some  of  that  climbing  fern  that  runs  all  over 
the  tiny  birch  saplings  in  the  woods,  and  the 
pitcher-plant  from  the  swamp  ?" 

"  Will  you,  Maggie  ?  What  a  happy  thought ! 
I  '11  meet  you  at  the  train  and  help  bring  them 
home." 

"  Better  still,"  said  Clare  ;  "  I  '11  come  after 
you  in  the  carriage,  Bab,  and  help  bring  them. 
Mamma  would  think  that  best,  I  know." 

"  Yes,  that  will  be  best.  I  shall  come  on  the 
six  o'clock  train.  I  '11  bring  every  nice  thing  I 
can  find.  Barbara,  you  will  be  famous !" 

They  were  all  drawn  to  the  little  maiden,  so 
busy  among  her  ferns,  the  lovely  face  all  aglow 
with  health  and  radiant  with  happiness.  They 
could  not  stay  long ;  they  could  be  of  no  help  to 


254  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

her  now,  and  Maggie  must  be  on  hand  for  the 
train. 

She  was  glad  to  be  at  home  again,  glad  to 
see  Becky,  and,  more  than  all,  that  Aunt  Cla- 
rissa was  to  show  her  something  that  would 
bring  to  her  a  little  of  the  long  ago.  What 
would  it  reveal,  what  conceal  ?  She  could  hardly 
wait  for  the  train.  Steam  itself  was  not  rapid 
enough  for  her  now. 

Miss  Brainard  did  not  keep  her  waiting. 
After  a  word  of  greeting  to  Becky  they  went  up 
to  the  little  old  trunk  in  the  garret,  and  under 
many  a  forgotten  relic  a  package  was  revealed 
and  placed  in  Maggie's  hands  as  she  sat  on  the 
floor  near  by. 

"  Is  this  it  ?    Auntie,  have  you  seen  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  just  saw  that  it  was  clothing  too  small 
for  you.  Nothing  more  was  found  that  could 
have  belonged  to  you.  I  never  unfolded  the 
garments ;  the  initials  told  the  story.  You  were 
called  Maggie ;  but  of  course  there  was  no  clew 
to  the  lost  name,  D.  If  this  woman  lives  I  have 
a  feeling  that  she  will  know  something,  though 
there  may  be  countless  creatures  by  the  name 
of 'Sal.'" 

Maggie  had  held  the  package  reverently. 
She  could  not  open  it ;  her  hands  trembled  ner- 
vously. Where  was  her  courage  ? 

"  Shall  I  open  it  for  you,  child?" 


NATURE  AND  ART.  255 

Maggie  held  it  towards  her  ;  her  voice  trem- 
bled. 

"  You  have  loved  me  in  spite  of  the  mend- 
less,  forlorn  wretchedness  of  what  I  was.  You 
had  no  fears.  You  have  given  me  everytning. 
I  ought  to  be  satisfied.  Do  you  blame  me  for 
wanting  to  know  more  ?" 

"  Never !  Blame  you,  indeed !  Nothing  I  'd 
like  to  know  more  myself  than  whose  loving 
fingers  placed  those  dainty  stitches.  See !" 

She  held  a  little  garment  up.  Maggie  took 
it.  She  could  see  nothing ;  her  eyes  were  dim 
with  tears. 

Aunt  Clarissa  lifted  other  delicately  made 
garments.  They  would  fit  a  child  of  about  three 
years ;  and  as  she  unfolded  the  last  one  an  old- 
fashioned  card  photograph  fell  from  its  folds 
into  her  lap.  Maggie  caught  and  devoured  the 
face  with  eyes  still  moist. 

"  Auntie,  it  must  be  my  mother's  face !" 

It  was  a  bright,  flashing  face,  with  eyes  black 
as  a  coal  and  hair  like  Maggie's,  dark  and  abun- 
dant. On  its  back  was  written  in  a  youthful 
hand,  "  Margaret  Doane,"  and  it  was  dated  more 
than  twenty  years  before. 

"  Yes,  you  look  enough  like  it  to  be  the  child. 
It 's  the  face  of  a  lady." 

"  To  know  this  and  nothing  more ;  how  can  I 
bear  it?" 


WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  My  child,  God's  ways  are  not  as  ours.  You 
may  learn  more ;  but  if  not,  you  must  be  satis- 
5pd  that  his  way  is  best.  After  all,  patience  and 
trust  are  good  lessons.  We  must  go  to  supper 
now.  Becky  will  be  impatient.  Take  the  pic- 
ture with  you.  If  the  woman  recovers  show  it 
to  her.  It  is  not  a  face  to  be  forgotten." 

They  went  below,  Maggie  strongly  moved. 
The  next  day  Miss  Brainard  borrowed  a  neigh- 
bor's quiet  old  horse,  for  they  were  a  primitive 
folk,  ready  to  exchange  courtesies,  and  took 
Maggie  through  a  winding  lane  off  from  the 
main  road  back  among  the  woods,  where  years 
before,  as  a  girl,  she  had  gone  for  blueberries 
and  checkerberries  in  their  different  seasons, 
and  helped  her  gather  the  lygodium,  its  long 
slender  stalks  with  their  many-lobed  frondlets 
twining  upon  every  support  that  offered  itself, 
so  beautiful  for  trimming ;  then  beyond  to  the 
lower  ground,  where  Jack-in-the-pulpit  and  a 
variety  of  the  pitcher-plant  grew  in  abundance. 

"  This  fern  will  curl.  I  have  a  quantity  that 
we  pressed  last  year.  You  might  take  that  to 
Barbara  ;  it  will  help  out." 

"  So  I  will.  I  'm  glad  you  thought  of  it.  But 
this  will  keep  fresh  some  time,  if  damp.  I  'm 
so  glad  to  help  her !" 

"  Yes,  I  enjoy  helping  those  who  help  them- 
selves." 


NATURE  AND   ART.  257 

"  Bab  does  that.  She  's  a  busy  little  worker, 
and  so  dainty  and  quick.  Her  fingers  obey  her 
every  time.  She  '11  be  happy  with  so  much  of 
the  country." 

"  You  can't  take  more.  We  '11  go  home  and 
pack  these  nicely.  I  never  saw  such  marsh 
flowers,  so  large  and  varied.  They  '11  make  a 
fine  show." 

The  visit  to  her  home  was  delightful  and  re- 
freshing to  Maggie.  She  was  met  by  Clare  and 
Barbara  at  the  station,  the  young  artist  over- 
joyed at  such  an  addition  to  her  stock  in  trade. 
After  assisting  her  a  half-hour  to  preserve  the 
freshness  of  the  plants,  Clare  took  Maggie  to 
the  hospital  and  was  driven  home. 

The  rag-picker  had  roused  somewhat  in  her 
absence.  Her  black  eyes  were  open  and  clear 
when  Maggie  went  to  the  bedside  for  a  moment. 
They  told  her  she  had  spoken  a  few  intelligent 
words  and  understood  what  was  said  to  her.  It 
was  possible  she  might  recover. 

This  was  no  time  for  Maggie  to  think  of  her 
own  interests.  The  woman's  gaze  wandered 
restlessly  from  face  to  face.  She  was  free  from 
pain  but  uneasy,  and  soon  fell  into  a  partially 
lethargic  state.  If  only  they  could  save  her  life 
and  Maggie  could  learn  who  "  Sal  "  was  and  the 
child  she  had  in  keeping!  It  was  a  slender 
thread  to  hang  her  hopes  upon;  but  she  did 

What  OtrU  Ctn  Do.  j  tj 


258  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

hope,  she  scarcely  knew  for  what.  There  was 
no  doubt  of  her  orphanhood.  She  had  never 
expected  to  see  any  near  relative.  Had  there 
been  any  living  being  to  claim  her  she  could 
not  have  been  left  in  the  cruel  grasp  of  that 
woman.  But  might  she  not  in  some  way  learn 
more  of  the  bright  face  in  her  keeping,  the  face 
so  long  hidden  in  the  roll  of  clothing,  unnoticed 
till  now,  and  only  brought  from  its  concealment 
through  the  wild  mutterings  of  a  half-dead  wo- 
man ? 

She  said  to  herself  she  must  forget  her  per- 
plexity in  her  work.  These  vague  longings 
must  be  stilled,  this  strong  desire  to  know  more 
of  her  origin  must  not  be  allowed  to  cripple  her 
powers  or  interfere  with  her  duty.  She  must 
be  patient.  So  she  went  among  the  young 
weaklings,  ministering  to  their  wants,  adding  to 
their  few  pleasures,  soothing  their  irritability, 
and  bringing  to  them  all  the  comfort  and  free- 
dom from  pain  in  her  power.  They  were  a  de- 
light to  her,  especially  when  she  saw  them  grow 
a  trifle  stronger  and  happier  each  day.  Life 
was  worth  living  when  she  could  forget  herself 
in  the  happiness  of  others,  live  for  those  who 
had  but  a  feeble  grasp  on  life,  give  of  her  super- 
abundant vitality  to  those  who  lacked. 

So  one  after  another  of  these  waifs  of  hu- 
manity went  from  her,  taking  something  of  her 


NATURE  AND  ART.  259 

vigor  aad  strength  with  them,  their  vacant  pla- 
ces refilled  with  others  who  would  tax  her  still 
more.  Maggie  was  of  heroic  frame,  but  so  per- 
fectly proportioned  that  one  was  not  at  first  im- 
pressed with  her  size.  Her  hands  were  large 
but  symmetrical,  the  wrists  strong  and  supple. 
She  carried  herself  royally,  with  head  erect, 
shoulders  firm  and  square.  The  children  felt 
safe  in  her  arms,  and  the  physicians  and  nurses 
were  confident  of  her  support  in  any  case  she 
undertook. 

It  was  late  in  September,  cool  and  bracing. 
Mrs.  St.  John  was  giving  a  small  reception  in 
honor  of  friends  from  abroad  who  were  soon  to 
return.  The  number  must  be  limited,  for  many 
were  still  out  of  the  city,  but  she  wished  to  make 
the  affair  as  interesting  and  delightful  as  she 
could.  She  wanted  her  friends  to  see  the  very 
best  of  American  life,  to  meet  the  most  agree- 
able people,  to  be  entertained  in  the  most  charm- 
ing way. 

Among  other  plans  she  had  formed  for  a  suc- 
cessful entertainment  was  this  unique  style  of 
decoration.  It  would  serve  two  purposes :  beau- 
tify the  rooms  in  original  and  exquisite  taste,  and 
reveal  to  the  strangers  the  wonderful  beauty  and 
variety  of  the  local  flora  and  its  capacity  for  be- 
ing utilized. 

She  had  n't  a  thought  that  Barbara  could  fail, 


260  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

and  she  was  more  than  ready  to  be  satisfied  with 
even  moderate  success  from  the  modest  maiden 
she  patronized ;  but  she  was  unprepared  for  the 
marvellous  abundance  and  variety  of  plants  se- 
cured and  the  rare  skill  she  showed  in  arranging 
them.  Tuesday  afternoon  she  sent  the  carriage 
for  her  with  the  baskets,  and  greeted  her  warmly 
when  a  little  later  she  appeared,  with  only  the 
vines  and  greens  that  would  keep  their  freshness 
until  the  next  evening. 

Every  spray  was  ready  for  its  place.  It  only 
needed  a  footman  and  a  step-ladder;  the  direc- 
tions were  clear  and  simple ;  and  when  all  was 
arranged  Mrs.  St.  John  could  only  exclaim, 

"  It  is  lovely  as  it  is,  Miss  Allen !" 

"  Please  call  me  Barbara ;  no  one  says  '  Miss ' 
to  me.  It  seems  strange." 

"  What  a  sensitive  child  you  are.  But  I  shall 
certainly  say  Barbara,  if  I  may.  It  has  a  wild 
nook  flavor  about  it  that  is  delightful.  The 
library  is  beautifully  trimmed  already.  What 
more  can  you  do  to  it  ?" 

"  Not  much,  Mrs.  St.  John.  The  other  rooms 
are  to  have  the  most  of  the  blossoms.  I  like 
quiet  among  books,  do  n't  you  ?" 

"  Indeed  yes.  Though  I  should  never  have 
thought  of  it.  Those  vines  are  just  the  thing, 
and  those  great  bunches  of  sumac,  with  only  now 
and  then  a  hint  of  autumn's  glow,  are  most  effec- 


NATURE  AND  ART.  26 1 

tive.  Ah,  Barbara,  it  is  exquisite.  And  the 
ferns  will  not  wilt?  They  are  so  beautifully 
fresh  now." 

"They  are  all  in  vials  of  water  but  the 
pressed  ones,  and  unless  closely  examined  one 
would  not  know  the  difference.  I  will  come  to- 
morrow with  all  the  bright  things  for  the  other 
rooms." 

"You  have  remembered  the  blue  room  up 
stairs  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  have  only  blue  and  white  for  that, 
with  the  tips  of  the  red  woodbine ;  it  needs  noth- 
ing more." 

"  Do  it  just  as  you  like.  It  will  be  a  poem  in 
color.  I  should  not  dare  suggest ;  the  whole 
thing  is  restful.  You  have  taken  a  burden  from 
me,  dear." 

The  next  day  Barbara  finished  her  work  to 
the  enthusiastic  satisfaction  of  Mrs.  St.  John. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  differ- 
ent effects:  the  massing  of  color,  the  rich  con- 
trasts, the  sweet  thought  expressed  here  or  the 
cool,  shady  corner  portrayed  there.  The  glow- 
ing of  the  cardinal  spikes,  the  modest  welcoming 
spirit  of  the  different  gentians,  the  lofty  sway  of 
the  great  bunches  of  golden-rod,  the  fragile 
grace  of  the  sweet-scented  clover,  the  homely 
contented  atmosphere  of  the  asters  as  they 
sprang  in  great  clusters  here  and  there,  the  clem- 


262  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

atis  vine  with  its  feathery  seed-vessels  looped 
with  the  unopened  bitter-sweet  among  the  dra- 
peries and  hangings,  all  spoke  of  a  spirit  that  un- 
derstood the  capacity  of  each  child  of  nature  and 
was  willing  that  they  speak  for  themselves. 

It  is  needless  to  say  the  guests  were  aston- 
ished and  enthusiastic.  Mrs.  St.  John  saw  it  was 
a  grand  success,  and  Barbara  was  rewarded  liber- 
ally. She  was  compelled  to  accept  far  more  than 
she  wished.  She  was  told  that  it  was  more  love- 
ly than  the  florists  would  have  made  it,  and 
worth  as  much.  "  So,  my  little  friend,  you  must 
take  the  same  I  should  have  given  to  them. 
Now  I  will  send  you  back.  I  hope  you  are  not 
too  tired  to  enjoy  a  share  in  my  refreshments. 
After  a  few  days  I  shall  see  you  again.  We 
must  be  great  friends."  She  offered  her  a  little 
basket,  which  Barbara  accepted  with  childlike 
grace.  The  kindness  of  this  new  friend  called 
into  her  face  as  she  rode  home  a  new  brightness 
and  beauty.  Her  father  was  awaiting  her.  He 
looked  long  into  her  eyes,  as  searching  for  the 
key  to  her  unfolding  loveliness,  and  wondering 
that  so  precious  a  gift  should  be  added  to  his 
life. 

Maggie  had  offered  to  relieve  the  night  nurse 
of  the  surgical  ward,  and  was  moving  quietly 
from  cot  to  cot  attending  to  the  last  duties  before 
the  light  was  dimmed.  She  hoped  for  some 


NATURE    AND   ART.  263 

surer  information  from  the  rag-picker,  but  feared 
her  mind  was  not  clear  enough  to  be  trusted.  In 
her  first  consciousness  she  had  gone  back  into 
the  past,  spoke  of  friends  and  places  foreign  to 
her  present  life,  scenes  that  could  not  have  been 
enacted  here  or  now.  They  seemed  generally 
to  recall  pleasant  recollections,  though  some- 
times she  shouted  to  "  Sal  "  fiercely,  rebuking  or 
challenging  her  for  some  un discoverable  cause. 

Maggie  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  be 
with  her  and  watch  the  singular  working  of  this 
mind  weakened  by  the  shock  to  her  system.  She 
hoped  to  learn  who  it  was  she  so  angrily  ad- 
dressed. She  could  not  approach  her  hastily. 
She  must  wait  until  health  returned,  and  with  it 
memory  of  the  life  she  had  led  until  the  accident 
brought  them  together.  She  was  glad  to  be  of 
service  in  this  ward,  where  she  could  watch  and 
be  ready  for  the  opportunity  that  would  certain- 
ly come  now  that  the  patient  was  improving. 
She  went  from  bed  to  bed  giving  comfort  to 
each  as  they  needed.  She  was  interested,  active, 
zealous  and  untiring,  quieting  the  nervous,  sooth- 
ing the  timid,  giving  to  one  a  cooling  draught, 
smoothing  a  pillow  for  another,  or  with  gentle 
monotonous  motion  bringing  sleep  to  the  rest- 
less. It  was  after  midnight,  when  suddenly  the 
woman  rose  in  bed  and  with  energy  flung  the 
clothes  from  her  and  attempted  to  get  upon  the 


264  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

floor.  She  had  been  dreaming,  was  excited  and 
wandering.  Maggie  was  at  her  side  in  an  in- 
stant, with  arms  about  her,  winning  her  gently 
and  firmly  to  lie  down. 

"  No  you  do  n't.  You  drunken  fool !  Let  the 
brat  alone.  Have  done,  Sal." 

"  It 's  not  Sal.  It 's  Maggie,"  sounded  in  the 
woman's  ear,  low  and  clear  as  a  bell.  She 
brushed  the  gray  hair  back,  laid  her  gently  on 
the  pillow,  and  bent  over  her  soothing  her  to 
quiet.  The  woman's  wild  eyes  were  fastened  on 
her  face.  She  smiled  back,  saying, 

"  I  am  Maggie.     You  remember  Maggie  ?" 

"  Maggie  are  ye  ?  Yes,  I  remember.  Where 's 
Sal?" 

"  She 's  gone.     She  wont  trouble  you  again." 

"  Gone,  has  she  ?  Did  she  sink  ?  Sal's  Mag  ?" 
She  gazed  at  her  closely  in  a  bewildered,  trou- 
bled way  for  a  few  moments,  then  fell  asleep. 

For  a  long  time  Maggie  sat  by  her  in  the  dim 
light  listening  to  the  irregular,  labored  breath, 
feeling  that  she  must  still  wait  for  the  knowl- 
edge she  wanted.  That  there  was  some  un- 
known link  between  the  patient  and  the  dreadful 
creature  who  had  been  the  terror  of  her  child- 
hood, she  was  sure.  She  prayed  that  the  mys- 
tery might  be  solved — the  strange  meaning  of 
her  dim  recollections  and  the  treasured  picture 
she  had  found  revealed  to  her.  She  loved  to 


NATURE  AND  ART.  265 

study  the  bright,  intelligent  face,  as  youthful  as 
her  own,  and  now  her  most  cherished  possession. 
Barbara  was  her  confidant.  She  knew  the  whole 
story :  together  they  bent  over  this  face  that 
Maggie  knew  was  her  mother's,  with  eyes  so  like 
her  own.  They  must  once  have  smiled  upon 
her  baby  face  ;  those  arms  had  clasped  her  when 
death  so  strangely  parted  them.  Would  she 
ever  know  the  whole  ?  Had  she  a  relative  on 
earth  ? 

She  visited  this  ward  now  every  day,  though 
there  was  no  neglect  of  her  own.  Her  young 
convalescents  were  as  carefully  watched,  her 
tasks  as  faithfully  performed,  and  her  delight  in 
her  task  as  real  as  ever.  They  wondered  at  her 
interest  in  this  disagreeable  case,  were  sur- 
prised to  see  her  direct  her  steps  to  that  particu- 
lar cot,  take  the  woman's  hand,  smooth  the 
pillow,  and  strive  to  attract  her  attention.  Soon 
the  patient  expected  her,  looked  eagerly  towards 
the  door,  and  roused  herself  as  she  approached, 
and  Maggie  would  smile  sweetly  into  those  rest- 
less black  eyes  and  say  in  her  round,  full  tones, 

"  It 's  Maggie,  come  to  see  how  you  feel  to- 
day. Better?" 

The  reply  would  be,  "  Maggie  be  it  ?" 

One  day  as  she  came  with  swifter  step,  the 
woman  sat  up  and  exclaimed, 

"  Sal's  mistress !    Mrs.  Doane," 


266  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

Maggie  stood  transfixed,  with  startled  gaze 
and  white  face. 

"  Do  you  know  me  ?"  she  asked. 

"Where's  Sal?  Tell  her  to  hide.  They'll 
have  her  up,"  she  whispered. 

"  What  for  ?     What  has  she  done  ?" 

"  Hm-m-m ! "  she  mumbled  with  a  look  of 
cunning  that  was  horrible.  The  young  girl 
turned  quickly  away.  Would  she  ever  learn  the 
meaning  of  it  all  ?  Was  there  something  more 
fearful  than  she  had  dreamed?  She  allowed 
several  days  to  pass  without  inquiry  after  this, 
until  the  nurse  came  to  her  saying  that  her  queer 
old  patient  was  sitting  up,  improving  rapidly, 
and  asking  for  Maggie.  They  could  make  noth- 
ing out  of  her.  Would  she  come  and  quiet  her  ? 

This  time  she  took  the  photograph.  The 
woman  was  up,  sitting  by  her  cot,  her  head  still 
bandaged  and  her  arm  in  a  sling,  a  pitiable- 
looking  object  enough. 

She  was  gazing  sharply  towards  the  entrance, 
in  evident  expectation  of  seeing  a  child,  for  as 
Maggie  drew  near,  tall,  lithe,  with  carriage  an 
empress  might  have  envied,  she  started,  ex- 
claiming again, 

"  Mrs.  Doane !     Alive  !" 

"  Don't  you  remember  Maggie?"  taking  her 
hand  and  sitting  close  on  the  edge  of  the  cot. 

"  Not  little  Mag  ?    Sal's  Mag  ?" 


NATURE  AND  ART.  267 

"  Yes,"  smiling  into  the  astonished  eyes  that 
gleamed  under  the  rough  gray  brows. 

"Where  is  Sal?" 

"  She  is  not  living.     She  died  long  ago." 

"  Died !"  The  woman  showed  no  particular 
feeling ;  there  was  evidently  no  sorrow. 

Maggie  drew  out  the  picture,  saying  at  a  ven- 
ture, "  This  is  my  mother.  Do  you  know  it  ?" 

The  hands  clutched  it  wildly.  She  studied 
the  face  with  an  occasional  quick  look  at  Maggie. 

"  Tell  me  my  mother's  name,"  in  a  low  tone 
of  authority. 

"  Mrs.  Doane.  Yes,  it  be  her,"  still  looking 
from  the  picture  to  Maggie  in  a  startled  manner. 

"  Who  was  Sal  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Doane's  nurse.     My  man's  sister." 

"Yes,"  responded  Maggie,  with  no  sign  of 
curiosity  or  desire,  though  she  wondered  the 
woman  did  not  hear  the  loud  beating  of  her 
heart. 

"  She  nursed  my  mother  ?    Very  long  ?" 

"Oh  very  long.  Her  man  died.  Then  Sal 
went  very  far  off.  Your  father  was  sick  and 
died  in  the  South  ;  your  mother  came  home." 

"  And  then  ?  Tell  me  all.  You  know  more 
of  course." 

"  Yes.  The  vessel  sank  in  a  great  storm. 
Sal  had  you  and  saved  you." 

"  And  my  mother  ?" 


268  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

How  tightly  she  was  grasping  the  bony  hand, 
how  white  her  lips  were,  and  her  eyes  fastened 
upon  the  old  face  so  close  to  hers ! 

"  She  sank.  All  sank  but  a  few.  Sal  held 
you  tight.  I  can  tell  no  more.  You  look  very 
like.  Sal  was  good  and  decent  then." 

"  After  that.     Did  no  one  claim  me  ?" 

"How?" 

"  Did  any  one  ever  come  for  me?" 

"  No.  Sal  took  good  care  of  you.  Then  she 
was  nice  and  did  no  harm.  That  is  all  I  know," 
shutting  her  lips  tightly. 

"  Why  wont  you  tell  me  all  ?  I  could  do  you 
no  harm.  I  will  not  blame  you  for  any  fault  of 
Sal.  Tell  me  what  you  know ;  I  will  reward  you. 
Think,  I  have  never  known  my  mother.  This 
picture  is  all  I  have.  Are  you  tired  ?  Then  I  '11 
come  again  by-and-by.  You  will  rest,  and  tell 
me  all  another  time.' 

"  Yes — I  'm  tired.  I  do  n't  know  the  rest.  No 
more." 

Maggie  was  very  tender,  helped  her  to  lie 
down,  sat  by  and  sang  low  and  sweet  words  of 
love  and  trust  until  the  patient  slept,  then  re- 
turned to  her  own  ward  ;  but  every  opportunity 
that  presented  found  her  ministering  to  this  wo- 
man. She  brought  her  fruit  and  cooling  drink, 
dressed  her  wound  when  the  other  nurse  was 
hurried,  saw  that  she  was  comfortable,  and  was 


NATURE  AND  ART.  269 

glad  to  find  that  she  depended  upon  her  and 
eagerly  waited  for  her  coming. 

And  now  a  different  expression  appeared  on 
the  woman's  face,  as  if  she  had  taken  a  new  re- 
solve, had  conquered  fear  and  would  be  governed 
by  a  purer  motive  despite  the  consequences. 
Maggie  had  won  her  by  patient  kindness  and 
gentle  forbearance.  She  was  sure  the  woman 
would  eventually  disclose  all  she  knew.  She 
seemed  to  be  content  only  in  her  presence,  to  be 
satisfied  and  comfortable  only  when  Maggie 
was  by ;  but  she  was  silent.  One  day,  when 
they  were  quite  alone,  Maggie  had  been  hum- 
ming soothingly  by  the  bed.  Suddenly  she 
asked, 

"  Did  Sal  do  wrong  ?  Did  she  treat  me  very 
cruelly  ?" 

"  She  drank  after  a  while,  and  made  you  beg 
and  steal  —  everything.  She  got  very  drunk, 
was  hauled  up  sometimes.  They  can't  hurt  her 
now." 

"  No  one  can  hurt  her ;  but  I  want  to  know 
where  I  was  then." 

"You  were  with  me.  I  was  very  good  to 
Maggie." 

"  And  then  she  left  you  ?" 

"  They  took  you  off  somewhere.  I  never  saw 
you  again.  They  sold  your  chain,  locket,  all,  and 
drank  all  the  time.  They  had  beat  you  and 


270  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

starved  you,  very  bad.  Now,  you  have  a  good 
home?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  happy  now." 

"  That  is  right.     I  'm  glad  you  're  happy." 

"  And  you  shall  be  happy  too.  I  must  always 
know  where  you  are  and  help  to  make  you  com- 
fortable." 

"The  Holy  One  bless  you,  little  Maggie.  I 
shall  never  call  you  Sal's  now." 

"  No,  you  may  call  me  '  Nurse  Maggie.'  " 

"  I  will."  And  while  she  remained  those 
near  saw  that  constantly  her  lips  moved,  as 
though  talking  to  one  unseen  by  those  about. 
They  discovered  that  she  was  repeating  over  and 
over  the  words,  "  Nurse  Maggie,  Nurse  Maggie." 
She  slept  with  the  name  on  her  lips  and  waked 
to  ask  a  blessing  upon  Nurse  Maggie. 

A  long  descriptive  account  went  to  Aunt  Cla- 
rissa. There  was  still  much  mystery  that  might 
never  be  revealed.  The  name  of  Doane  was  un- 
known to  the  family.  Miss  Brainard  advised 
Maggie  to  be  content  with  the  face  in  her  keep- 
ing, and  the  sure  knowledge  that  it  was  her  mo- 
ther's, and  to  go  on  bravely  with  her  work.  She 
threw  herself  into  it  with  a  zest  that  never  abated. 
Her  health  was  perfect,  her  strength  unfailing ; 
her  devotion  was  given  without  stint,  and  her 
sunny  presence  held  healing  power  for  those  to 
whom  she  ministered.  They  drew  increased  vi- 


NATURE  AND  ART.  2/1 

tality  from  her  superabundance.  They  had  no 
idea  that  she  could  fail  them.  Even  the  doctors 
taxed  her  as  they  would  not  have  dared  one  of 
less  courage  and  determination.  Once  there  was 
a  demand  for  outside  nurses,  and  Maggie  was 
sent  on  her  first  private  mission.  It  was  a  case 
of  diphtheria,  a  baby  boy,  very  ill.  Her  heart 
thrilled  as  she  entered  the  darkened  room  and 
saw  the  worn  mother  bending  over  the  sufferer 
whose  hold  on  life  was  so  frail.  She  was  per- 
forming with  unsteady  hand  some  necessary 
service.  One  thought  for  divine  assistance 
Maggie  raised  to  Christ,  claiming  his  promised 
help.  It  was  the  recognition  of  his  power  that 
bathed  her  whole  soul  in  love  and  faith.  Her 
courage  came  back  like  a  flood.  He  would  be 
near.  The  work  was  his. 

"  Let  me  do  it,  please.  Sit  here  and  rest.  I 
will  do  just  as  you  would."  The  mother  watched 
closely  as  she  deftly  performed  her  various  du- 
ties and  made  the  little  patient  comfortable.  At 
last  she  prevailed  upon  the  mother  to  lie  down — 
it  would  be  useless  to  advise  her  to  leave  the 
room.  Then  studying  her  directions,  watching 
her  little  patient,  lying  in  a  sleep  like  death  but 
for  the  painful  breathing,  quietly  she  put  the 
room  in  perfect  order  and  waited  for  the  doctor's 
early  visit. 

The  child's  eyes  opened,     A  look  of  fear 


272  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

appeared.  Maggie's  smile  checked  it  and  she 
offered  nourishment.  The  little  hand  pushed  it 
weakly  away. 

"  Take  it,  darling ;  it  will  make  you  well. 
See  ?"  She  tasted  it,  saying  firmly,  "  Take  it  for 
me,  good  boy,"  with  a  smile  that  conquered. 
"  Take  more,  dear."  The  child  obeyed.  The 
mother  had  risen  and  was  anxiously  watching 
every  motion.  With  a  sigh  of  relief  she  sank 
back,  saying, 

"  He  would  n't  touch  it  for  me.  He  must  take 
it." 

"  Have  no  fear;  he  will  take  it,  I  'm  sure." 

Then  the  worn-out  mother  yielded  to  the 
strain  of  the  past  few  days  and  fell  into  a  sleep 
that  lasted  long. 

This  was  Maggie's  first  independent  work. 
In  two  weeks  the  child  was  well  enough. to  be 
left.  She  had  allowed  it  to  wind  itself  about  her 
very  heart.  Its  arms  clasped  her  tightly.  The 
mother  begged  her  to  stay  longer. 

"  You  have  saved  my  baby  for  me ;  I  shall 
never  forget  you.  I  wish  you  could  stay." 

"  I  have  my  marching  orders,  you  know,  and 
must  report  as  soon  as  I  'm  not  needed." 

"  And  you  cannot  stay  as  my  guest?" 

"  Oh  dear  no.  I  must  be  at  work  somewhere, 
and  evidently  there  is  no  more  to  do  here,  for 
my  boy's  roses  will  soon  be  back."  She  kissed 


NATURE  AND  ART.  273 

him  on  both  cheeks  and  held  him  tight  until  the 
last  moment ;  then,  promising  to  come  again,  she 
left  them. 

This  was  the  first  of  a  long  list  of  loving  little 
friends  to  whom  she  was  allowed  to  minister. 
When  she  returned  to  the  hospital  the  rag-pick- 
er had  gone. 


What  Olrli  C«n  Do. 


2/4  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

CHAPTER    XV. 

DOT'S  OUTING. 

JACK'S  next  year  at  college  was  a  battle  and 
a  victory.  His  friends  could  ask  no  more.  His 
toother  regained  spirits  and  strength  with  the 
good  tidings.  His  two  years  of  real  work  trans- 
formed him  from  the  reckless,  unthinking  boy 
into  the  ambitious,  earnest  man. 

Barbara's  opportunities  to  develop  skill  and 
taste  increased  when  it  became  known  who  had 
decorated  Mrs.  St.  John's  rooms.  So  great  was 
the  demand  there  was  danger  of  the  wild  flow- 
ers being  exterminated,  root,  stem,  and  blossom, 
but  that  the  frost  mercifully  preserved  the  rem- 
nant even  from  Barbara's  tender  hands.  She 
was  often  sought — her  fine  taste  acknowledged, 
her  rare  ability  recognized ;  and  the  charm  of 
her  sweet,  retiring  nature  and  pure  integrity 
gained  favor  with  all. 

Two  years  moved  smoothly  away ;  the  holi- 
days drew  near.  The  Hamlins  were  stirred  up 
by  one  of  Miss  Brainard's  lively  calls.  They 
were  designated  as  periodical  favors,  and  looked 
for  with  eager  anticipation.  She  always  had  an 
object,  sure  to  be  original  and  surprising. 


DOT'S   OUTING.  275 

"  Dolly !"  she  began,  one  early  morning  be- 
fore removing  her  hat. 

"  Yes,  Clarissa,  I  see  it  in  your  face.  The  air 
is  full  of  it.  You  have  some  grand  project  on 
hand.  What  can  it  be  this  time  ?" 

"Auntie,  you  make  me  think  of  time  and 
tide,  always." 

"  Tell  me  why,  Dot." 

"  Because  you  wait  for  no  man." 

"  Indeed,  then,  I  do  n't.  But,  Dolly  dear,  lis- 
ten, if  this  chatterbox  can  be  still,  and  do  n't  one 
of  you  speak  until  I  'm  through.  Give  me  the 
whole  platform  for  five  minutes ;  I  'm  going  to 
Florida." 

There  was  a  little  shriek  from  Dot,  a  pleas- 
ant murmur  from  Clare,  and  Mrs.  Hamlin 
opened  her  eyes  in  amazement.  Aunt  Clarissa 
raised  her  finger  and  proceeded : 

"  Now  be  still.  Let  me  tell  the  whole  story. 
I  shall  go  the  first  week  of  the  new  year.  I 
know  it 's  too  soon  to  follow  them  up,  but  I  've 
been  thinking  these  first  years  will  be  the  long- 
est and  hardest.  I  might  help  them;  at  all 
events  it  will  do  them  good  to  see  me ;  and  I 
must  know  how  they  are  getting  on.  I  can't 
take  Maggie  this  time ;  I  shall  be  gone  three 
or  four  months.  I  want  company.  You  can't 
go ;  Eric  can't  spare  Clare,  and  she  wont  leave 
her  work.  I  do  n't  blame  her.  I  'd  give  that 


276  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

dear  little  Bab  an  outing,  but  her  father  stands 
in  the  way.  There  's  no  one  left  but  Dot." 

Here  Dot  performed  a  succession  of  silent 
gymnastics  through  the  room  that  brought 
smiles  to  every  face. 

"  I  want  her  to  go  with  me." 

"  But,  sister—" 

"  Be  patient  a  moment  longer.  I  want  to 
shut  up  my  house,  for  Becky  'd  die  there  alone, 
and  don't  you  want  a  seamstress  and  general 
housekeeper?  I  shall  continue  her  wages,  of 
course,  but  must  leave  her  happy.  That  is  all ; 
now  you  may  free  your  minds ;  mine  is  made 
up." 

She  sat  the  picture  of  firm  determination. 

"  I  see ;  there 's  little  to  say,"  said  her  sister, 
while  Dot  hugged  her  rapturously. 

"  What  made  you  think  I  would  not  give  up 
my  study,  auntie?"  Clare  asked  a  little  dubi- 
ously, half  wishing  she  were  in  Dot's  place. 

"  Well,  I  've  been  talking  with  Eric,  and  I 
did  n't  think  it  was  best ;  we  have  another  plan 
for  you  later,"  nodding  encouragingly. 

"  It 's  a  fine  idea,  and  I  shall  be  glad  of  Becky. 
But  what  room  have  they  for  you  ?" 

"  I  Ve  thought  it  all  over.  I  've  had  descrip- 
tions of  the  house  anji  the  whole  estate  until  I 
know  it  all.  The  boys  can  sleep  at  the  farm 
where  they  did  when  they  first  went.  We  can 


DOT'S  OUTING.  277 

take  their  room,  and  they  have  an  extra  one  for 
Dot.  I  've  asked  a  thousand  questions ;  I  in- 
tend making  a  confidant  of  Ned,  and  have  him 
meet  us  at  the  nearest  point  of  railroad  travel 
and  take  us  there.  It  will  be  an  old  springless 
mule  wagon;  but  it  wont  hurt  me  any  more 
than  it  did  Lucy.  To  think  that  little  thing 
never  flinched ;  there's  not  one  in  ten  so  brare. 
And  I  do  n't  mean  that  Harry  shall  get  ahead  of 
me  again.  I  'm  vain  enough  to  think  it  will  do 
them  good — and  me  too.  Now  may  I  have  Dot  ?" 

"  What  can  I  do  without  her  for  four  months  ?" 

"  Do  let  me  go ;  do,  mamma.  I  can  make 
papa  listen  to  reason,  I  know." 

"Why,  Dorothy,  are  you  so  eager  to  leave 
me?" 

"  No  indeed,  mother,  I  'm  inconsolable ;  but 
I  do  want  to  go.  Such  a  chance  !  I  may  never 
have  another." 

"  What  about  school  and  music  ?" 

"  No  matter  about  school ;  a  rest  wont  hurt 
her.  And  for  music,  Dr.  Kent  lives  on  the  lake, 
a  near  neighbor  to  them.  They  are  there  now. 
Ned  says  they  are  delightful  people  and  have  a 
piano.  Ned  is  a  favorite  already ;  very  likely 
Dot  will  be,  if  she  is  not  too  crazy.  Let  her  go." 

"  Yes,  mamma ;  I  need  it  too.  I  think  I  had 
a  little  hacking  cough  this  morning.  Did  you 
notice,  Clare  ?" 


2/8  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  I  thought  you  were  trying  to  talk  and  eat 
at  the  same  time,  and  there  was  a  little  want  of 
harmony." 

"  Well,  get  papa's  consent,  and — " 

"  I  have  yours  ?  You  precious  mother !  I 
shall  go,  auntie,  there  is  n't  an  atom  of  doubt ;" 
and  she  did. 

The  house  lost  its  music  in  her  absence. 
The  mother  missed  her  more  than  any  other,  al- 
though Clare  cheerfully  gave  her  many  hours 
she  had  devoted  to  other  things.  Becky  proved 
a  wonderful  companion  in  the  quiet  sewing- 
room  ;  many  a  quaint  old  tale  of  her  early  Scot- 
tish life  she  gave  them  as  the  work  went  on, 
and  many  a  short,  bracing  ride  they  indulged 
the  old  servant  in,  knowing  that  she  missed  the 
stirring  life  of  the  country  indoor  and  out. 

Dot  sent  her  first  greeting  from  Savannah, 
a  letter  as  sparkling,  bright,  and  newsy  as  she 
could  make  it,  full  of  delightful  gayety,  of  bound- 
less enjoyment,  of  enthusiastic  rapture  over  the 
wonders  of  the  ocean  and  the  unique  steamer 
life. 

All  unconscious  of  the  surprise  in  store  for 
them,  Mrs.  Brainard  and  her  younger  children 
enjoyed  the  charm  of  their  simple  home.  They 
had  neighbors  near.  Dr.  Kent,  whose  fine  place 
they  had  noticed  in  first  passing,  had  returned 
from  the  North.  His  family  was  small ;  his 


DOT'S  OUTING.  279 

wife  and  mother,  with  servants,  made  up  the 
household.  Mrs.  Kent  was  genial,  hospitable, 
and  free  of  speech,  generous  and  kindly ;  not 
entirely  satisfied  with  her  secluded  life,  but  will- 
ing to  make  the  sacrifice  for  the  health  of  her 
husband,  she  devoted  herself  entirely  to  the 
making  an  ideal  home  in  the  wilderness  for  him 
and  his  mother,  to  whom  she  was  strongly  at- 
tached. The  mother  was  a  sweet-faced,  gentle 
woman,  with  a  quiet  air  and  a  low,  plaintive 
voice,  that  hinted  at  sharp  trials  in  the  past,  of 
sacrifices  made,  of  hopes  laid  aside,  and  perhaps 
a  life-long  struggle  for  patient  submission  to  a 
will  higher  than  her  own.  She  almost  invaria- 
bly dressed  in  soft  grays,  and  had  been  called  by 
an  old  black  woman,  who  must  have  had  a  touch 
of  poetry  in  her  make-up,  "  the  doctor's  mourning 
dove."  She  went  nearly  every  day  among  the 
blacks  and  poorer  whites,  who  freely  poured 
their  tale  of  joys  and  sorrows  into  her  ears,  re- 
ceiving from  her  unlimited  sympathy  and  assist- 
ance with  pathetic  gratitude. 

Many  of  the  whites  were  of  the  poorest.  If 
not  vicious,  yet  discouraged  and  hopeless,  with 
scarce  enough  of  earthly  goods  to  make  their 
days  go  on,  satisfied  with  the  meanest  fare  and 
the  least  that  would  support  life.  They  were  in- 
dolent, for  they  were  without  suitable  tools  for 
labor ;  ignorant,  for  they  had  never  been  taught; 


280  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

careless,  for  they  had  nothing  to  care  for ;  hard- 
ened, for  life  even  beneath  sunny  skies  was  hard. 
What  wonder  that  the  quiet,  friendly  calls  of 
this  gentle  old  lady  were  a  surprise  to  them !  and 
when  she  added  to  this  kindly  interest  more 
tangible  offerings,  making  life  a  trifle  more  en- 
durable, their  apathy  changed  to  a  half-expressed 
wonder  and  then  to  a  humble  gratitude.  They 
would  at  last  have  made  some  feeble  exertion 
for  her  had  she  needed  any  service  they  were 
capable  of  rendering. 

The  drive  from  Mr.  Brainard's  to  the  Kent 
place  was  long,  winding  through  devious  ways 
in  most  promiscuous  fashion,  round  any  obstacle 
that  presented.  The  distance  by  water  could  be 
accomplished  in  a  few  minutes'  row.  The  fami- 
lies had  early  exchanged  calls.  There  was  little 
ceremony  but  a  wealth  of  good  feeling ;  in  that 
sparsely  settled  region  a  new  neighbor  was  a 
boon  to  be  gratefully  acknowledged. 

Ned  had  spent  several  pleasant  evenings  on 
the  doctor's  veranda,  rowing  back  as  the  great 
bright  globe  of  the  full  moon,  floating  through 
thin  fleecy  clouds,  touched  the  wave-crests  of  the 
lake  and  cast  deep  shadows  along  the  shore. 
They  were  already  on  delightfully  familiar 
terms.  The  doctor  was  young  and  enthusiastic 
enough  to  sympathize  with  one  who  had  re- 
nounced his  chosen  work  for  the  sake  of  others. 


DOT'S  OUTING.  28l 

He  understood  his  ambition.  It  had  been  his 
own.  Nothing  .had  interfered  with  the  success- 
ful completion  of  his  plans  but  failure  in  health 
that  made  a  Southern  life  imperative.  He  had 
so  far  recovered  as  to  do  good  work  on  his  place 
and  in  his  study. 

This  life  of  ease,  this  independent,  out-door  ex- 
istence, was  too  delightful  to  break  up.  He  was 
not  sure  that  he  should  ever  practise  anywhere. 
If  those  near  him  needed  his  services  they  were 
bestowed  freely.  After  a  time  he  proposed  a 
course  of  reading  to  Ned.  It  might  be  of  use  in 
the  future.  His  library  was  freely  offered.  It 
would  be  agreeable  in  their  isolated  life  to  have 
some  object  beside  work  with  the  blacks.  Ned 
accepted  enthusiastically ;  it  gave  a  fresh  im- 
petus to  his  ambition,  and  there  was  a  rare  good- 
fellowship  between  them.  From  this  time,  with 
his  daily  readings  with  the  doctor  and  the  reci- 
tations of  Harry,  his  life  was  that  of  a  student. 

As  fruit  culture  became  familiar  to  them  Mr. 
Brainard  readily  gave  him  more  time  for  his 
books.  There  was  a  large  number  of  negroes  at 
work  upon  the  place,  some  with  families,  living 
in  small  cabins  on  the  ground,  many  more  day 
laborers,  with  homes  at  a  distance.  A  remark- 
ably good  feeling  existed,  a  spirit  of  deference, 
a  willingness  to  surmount  obstacles,  that  made 
the  work — not  always  light  and  pleasant — run 


282  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

smoothly.  Each  family  had  a  spot  of  land,  and 
raised  their  own  "garden  truck,"  as  they  termed 
it ;  other  commodities  were  brought  in  bulk  and 
sold  to  them  without  profit,  as  they  required. 
They  were  skilful  in  trapping  game  and  cook- 
ing fish,  and  with  their  power  of  endurance  were 
enabled  to  live  far  more  generously  than  the  low 
class  of  whites,  whom  they  looked  upon  with 
scarce  concealed  contempt.  They  were  docile, 
happy,  submissive,  and  with  an  element  of  rev- 
erence in  their  nature  that  made  them  easily 
controlled.  Their  Sabbath  services  were  held 
in  a  large  shed  that  had  been  arranged  with 
seats,  near  the  lake,  and  easy  of  access  to  any 
desiring  to  reach  it  by  land  or  water. 

Harry  had  his  morning  and  evening  hours  of 
study,  between  which  he  devoted  the  time  to 
enjoyment  with  his  sister  on  the  beach  among 
the  pines,  and  even  as  far  into  the  jungle  as  they 
dared  venture.  Sometimes  a  few  hours  were 
spent  at  the  other  place  with  Auntie,  having  a 
rough-and-tumble,  madcap  frolic  with  the  young 
blacks  who  swarmed  about  the  cabins.  They 
had  never  had  a  gladder  life.  There  was  nothing 
to  cramp  the  freedom  of  motion,  nothing  to  check 
the  delights  of  that  endless  summer. 

At  this  time  Aunt  Clarissa's  letter  reached 
Ned.  It  was  to  be  secret  until  the  day  before 
their  arrival,  that  his  mother  might  not  weary 


DOT'S  OUTING.  283 

herself  with  preparation.  That  there  might  be 
a  suitable  welcome,  he  had  confided  in  Auntie, 
enjoining  the  strictest  secrecy  and  advising  her 
to  have  everything  ready  for  a  first-class  North- 
ern housekeeper's  comfort. 

"  Dat  I  will,  sho'  now,  Massa  Ned.  A  little 
fo 'knowledge  mighty  'portant  to  hab.  Missy 
hab  no  'casion  to  trouble  herse'f  at  all." 

"  That 's  right,  Auntie.  Do  n't  worry  mother. 
Fix  the  rooms  all  right ;  make  them  up  white 
and  nice." 

"  Sho'  now  I  will,  Massa  Ned.  Hope  to  good- 
ness I  wont  done  go  foolin'  roun'  an'  let  de 
secret  out  de  bag ;  secrets  mighty  confusin', 
Massa  Ned." 

"  I  '11  trust  you,  Auntie.     Do  your  best." 

The  next  day  the  mistress  looked  into  the 
cook-room  in  passing  with  the  children. 

"  Baking,  Auntie  ?  It 's  pretty  warm  for 
that." 

"  Done  get  way  down  on  cake,  missy.  'Pears 
like  dere  's  not'in'  to  eat  when  de  cake-box 
empty." 

"  You  must  like  to  live  in  a  furnace.  Make 
me  a  cake,  will  you  ?"  sang  out  Harry  through 
the  screen-door. 

"  Me  too,  Auntie,"  from  his  sister. 

"  Sho'  now  dis  pusson  do  dat.  Bof  yo'  chil- 
luns  gwine  to  hab  de  berry  bes'  ole  Auntie  know 


284  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

how  to  make.  Massa  Harry,  done  go  'long  look 
in  de  box  an'  bring  me  de  fresh  eggs  dere  ;  dose 
hens  mighty  lazy  dese  times.  Yo'  kill  dat  big 
gopher  you  haulin'  roun'  dis  mornin'  an'  gib  de 
hens,  dey  lay  pow'ful." 

"  Will  they  really,  Auntie?" 

"  'Course  dey  will.  S'prisin*  fond  o'  gopher 
meat  hens  is." 

"  I  '11  do  it.  But  I  '11  get  your  eggs  first. 
What 's  in  the  wind  anyhow,  Auntie  ?  You 
look  solemn  as  an  owl." 

"  Go  'long  now.  I 's  al'ays  solemn-like  wif 
such  'portant  bizness.  You  go  help  yo'  ma, 
Massa  Harry." 

A  few  mornings  after  Ned  announced  his 
intention  of  being  away  for  the  day. 

"And,  little  mother,  I  may  bring  company 
home  to-night.  Do  n't  get  tired  ;  I  want  you  to 
be  your  freshest.  Let  Auntie  do  it  all ;  she 
knows." 

"  I  felt  it  in  the  air.  Who 's  coming?"  asked 
Harry. 

"  Who  is  it,  Ned  ?"  asked  his  mother. 

"  I  'm  going  to  the  station  for  Aunt  Clarissa 
and  Dot." 

"  Hurrah !  Three  times  three !  But  that 's 
immense !"  shouted  Harry. 

Every  face  was  covered  with  glad  smiles. 

"  Does  your  father  know  it?" 


DOT'S  OUTING.  285 

"  Yes,  I  've  just  told  him.  I  was  afraid  you  'd 
work  yourself  to  death  if  you  knew  it  sooner. 
But  Auntie  's  made  everything  first  rate." 

"  I  wondered  at  her  energy.  When  shall 
you  be  back?" 

"Just  the  time  we  got  here  from  Jackson- 
ville. Auntie  will  have  a  good  dinner  ready 
for  them." 

"Yes,  indeed;  and  that's  why  she  was  ma- 
king your  room  so  fine.  I  thought  it  was  un- 
bounded love  for  you." 

"  Not  a  bit.  I  can  take  Harry  to  the  other 
house  to  sleep.  Now  I  must  be  off." 

"  Wont  it  be  fun !  Hurrah  for  Dot !"  again 
and  again  his  exultant  shout  rang  out. 

They  were  nearly  the  same  age  and  fairly 
matched.  The  children  found  it  a  long  day  for 
waiting.  They  filled  the  rooms  with  flowers  ; 
the  house  was  turned  into  a  bower  of  loveliness. 
Mr.  Brainard  was  as  nervous  and  impatient  as 
the  others.  The  day  wore  slowly  on  in  its  cloud- 
less beauty,  and  late  in  the  afternoon  Ned's  glad 
shout  reached  them  from  the  hummock-road. 

Harry  raced  down  the  path  to  open  the  wide 
gate  that  the  travellers  might  ride  close  to  the 
vine-covered  porch.  With  a  spring  Dot  was  in 
her  uncle's  arms,  laughing  and  crying  in  a 
breath.  The  greetings  were  full  of  gladness 
and  tears.  Old  Auntie  stood  surveying  the 


286  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

group,  her  black  face  wreathed  in  the  broadest 
smile,  every  white  tooth  gleaming  and  eyes 
sparkling  beneath  her  red  bandanna.  She  won- 
dered if  they  would  stop  talking  long  enough 
to  eat ;  her  dinner  was  all  ready  to  place  on  the 
table.  Would  they  never  get  off  their  wrap- 
pings and  partake  of  the  feast  of  which  she  was 
so  justly  proud ! 

The  mocking-bird  in  the  oak  near  poured 
forth  a  welcome  trill  that  hushed  Dot's  voice 
and  gave  an  expression  of  rapture  to  her  face. 

Aunt  Clarissa  commented  upon  the  change 
in  each :  Harry  so  like  his  father,  and  Kitty, 
with  her  yellow  locks  and  big  blue  eyes,  was 
wonderfully  grown. 

"  And  you  and  Lucy  are  so  young  and  fresh ! 
Why,  she 's  like  a  girl  again.  It  must  be  a  won- 
derful spot  you've  found.  Is  the  miraculous 
fountain  of  youth  on  the  place  ?  And  who  is 
this,  looking  as  pleased  as  the  rest  of  us?"  she 
asked. 

"  This  is  Auntie,  who  takes  care  of  us." 

"I  hope  there'll  be  no  rivalry  between  the 
two  aunts,"  responded  Miss  Brainard  as  she 
smiled  at  the  negress'  deferential  courtesy. 

"  Come,  Dot,  this  is  your  nest.  Take  off  your 
hat.  Here 's  cool  water  for  a  splash.  You  are 
hungry,  I  know ;  you  always  were." 

Harry  was  tugging  in  the  bundles,  while  Dot 


DOT'S  OUTING.  287 

squeezed  Kitty  until  the  child  almost  gasped  in 
surprise  and  delight. 

"  Yes,  Harry,  I  'm  just  as  starved  as  ever,  and 
I  '11  be  ready  at  once.  What  dear  little  rooms ! 
one  for  me  all  by  myself,  and  this  for  auntie 
close  by.  I  shall  be  so  happy.  I  long  to  see 
everything.  Call  auntie  or  she  '11  talk  till  dark." 

"  Here,  Aunt  Clarissa,  let  me  help  you. 
Don't  talk  to  papa  any  longer.  Old  Auntie 
shakes  in  her  shoes  for  fear  the  dinner  '11  spoil." 

"  True  enough ;  but  I  've  a  world  to  say  to 
you  all.  Harry,  you  are  the  same  mother-boy  as 
ever.  I  'm  glad  of  that." 

There  was  a  merry  dinner,  and  then  they 
congregated  upon  the  western  veranda.  The 
sun,  a  red,  blazing  globe,  was  close  to  the  hori- 
zon ;  great  masses  of  golden  clouds  had  gathered 
and  opened  like  gleaming  gates  upon  an  emer- 
ald sea;  the  whole  heaven,  even  to  its  eastern 
limit,  was  aglow ;  the  lake  at  their  feet  reflected 
every  form  and  shade. 

They  gathered  in  groups.  Dot  drew  Kitty 
into  the  hammock,  chattered  and  told  stories 
full  of  fun  and  sparkling  with  gayety.  Harry 
laughed  long  and  loud.  The  elders  turned  to 
smile  on  the  merry  group.  Kitty  was  brimming 
over  with  life.  It  was  grand  to  have  another 
playmate  and  one  who  could  throw  herself  so 
heartily  into  her  fun  as  Dot  did. 


288  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  Cousin  Dot,  I  love  you,  oh  so  much ;  as 
much  as  I  do  Harry  almost !" 

"  You  precious  child,  I  love  you  too  !  And  to 
think  I  have  n't  seen  you  since  you  were  a  baby ! 
We  '11  have  the  j  oiliest  times,  wont  we  ?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  I  didn't  think  you  were  so 
playrious." 

The  merriment  was  contagious.  Ned  caught 
his  little  sister,  perched  her  on  his  shoulder,  and 
cantered  up  and  down  the  walk  between  the 
limes,  then  tossing  her  into  his  father's  arms, 
told  Harry  they  must  go  before  it  was  too  dark 
to  see  the  path.  The  short  twilight  was  past ;  a 
stillness  reigned  that  could  be  felt.  Very  soon 
Dot  was  dreaming  in  her  tiny  room. 

The  next  day  the  delights  of  a  Southern  win- 
ter among  friends  began  for  the  guests.  Ned's 
studies  for  a  time  were  discontinued.  The 
Kents  made  early  calls,  and  a  delightful  inti- 
macy sprang  up  between  the  families.  Harry 
taught  Dot  to  row,  and  many  an  hour  was  spent 
on  the  lake.  She  charmed  them  with  her  glad 
nature.  Never  quiet,  never  silent,  she  sang  as 
the  birds  did,  needing  no  accompaniment ;  sim- 
ply to  pour  her  whole  soul  upon  the  still  air  in 
tones  that  charmed  every  listener  was  her  high- 
est joy.  She  loved  to  row  out  into  the  centre  of 
the  lake  with  one  or  both  her  cousins  and  throw 
song  after  song  into  the  night  air,  the  full  moon 


DOT'S  OUTING.  289 

covering  her  with  a  silvery  light.  Her  voice 
was  full,  strong,  and  rich,  the  higher  tones  of 
rare  purity.  They  never  wearied  of  listening  or 
she  of  singing.  Soon  the  negroes  were  attract- 
ed, and  as  she  poured  forth  rich  floods  of  music 
a  rustling  near  the  hummock-road  would  reveal 
a  crowd  of  blacks  listening  in  rapt  attention  to 
the  exultant  tones. 

The  doctor's  grounds  were  extensive,  and  for 
some  distance  about  the  house  were  in  a  high 
state  of  culture.  Gravel  walks  led  to  the  lake 
and  to  the  road.  The  air  was  heavy  with  the 
scent  of  jasmine,  and  roses  bloomed  continually 
in  great  abundance  and  of  many  varieties.  Fra- 
grance and  beauty  surprised  one  at  every  turn. 
The  almost  endless  tropical  growth  filled  Dot 
with  amazement.  She  became  at  once  a  favorite 
with  the  family.  Her  happy  spirit  readily  won 
friends,  and  her  fresh,  young,  cultivated  voice 
was  a  rich  treat  to  all  who  heard  it. 

Mrs.  Kent  had  guided  the  music  on  the  Sab- 
bath and  was  very  willing  to  accept  the  assist- 
ance Dot  could  give.  They  offered  her  the  free- 
dom of  the  music-room  and  encouraged  frequent 
visits.  The  two  families  soon  became  almost  as 
one,  together  at  some  part  of  each  day.  The 
mother  would  sit  by  the  hour  listening  as  the 
young  girl  lost  herself  in  the  art  she  loved. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  while  Harry  fished 

Wh»*  OlrU  can  Do.  JQ 


290  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

from  the  boat-landing  and  Kitty  was  frolicking 
with  the  doctor's  setter,  Dot,  thinking  herself 
alone,  indulged  in  a  wild  medley  of  everything 
she  could  recall  that  she  had  ever  learned,  finish- 
ing with  some  of  the  gospel  hymns  she  had  so 
often  sung  for  the  patients  in  the  hospital  at 
home.  At  last  the  music  ceased,  and  swing- 
ing round  on  the  stool  Dot  found  she  was  not 
alone.  Mother  Kent,  as  they  all  called  her,  had 
been  listening  with  her  knitting  lying  idly  in 
her  lap,  her  hands  folded,  and  her  soft  gray 
shawl  dropping  to  the  floor.  "  How  sweet  she 
looks,"  thought  Dot,  "  with  her  eyes  the  color  of 
heaven,  so  far  off.  I  wonder  what  she  is  think- 
ing about." 

"Come  here,  my  child,"  she  said. 

Dot  pulled  a  stool  near  and  seated  herself  at 
the  old  lady's  feet. 

"Your  voice  is  a  wonderful  gift,  my  dear." 
Dot  looked  into  her  face  with  a  light,  glad 
laugh.  It  made  her  happy ;  she  had  no  other 
thought.  "  Have  you  ever  thought  why  such  a 
gift  should  be  yours  ?"  Mrs.  Kent  smiled  upon 
the  bright  face. 

"  Why,  no,  I  never  did,"  she  answered  slowly. 
"  Perhaps  it 's  because  I  can't  do  anything  else. 
I  don't  know  much.  I  shall  never  know  as 
much  as  Clare." 

"Your  sister?" 


DOT'S  OUTING.  291 

**  Yes ;  she 's  most  an  angel,  but  I  'm  a  madcap, 
they  say.  I  can  only  sing ;  and  how  I  love  it !" 

"  Well,  dear,  it 's  a  rare  gift.  God  gave  it. 
He  has  been  very  good  to  you,  giving  you  what 
you  love  so  much." 

"  Why,  so  he  has.  But  he  is  good  to  all,  you 
know." 

"  Yes ;  we  shall  never  know  here  how  good. 
If  I  were  you  I  would  consecrate  this  gift  to 
him  while  it  is  fresh  and  beautiful." 

"  I  wish  I  could ;  but  how?  I  can  only  sing 
and  sing.  What  more  can  I  do  ?" 

"  Do  you  sing  for  love  of  Him,  dear  ?" 

"  Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Kent,  I  'm  afraid  it 's  only  be- 
cause  I  love  to  sing,  as  the  birds  do." 

"  But  you  have  higher  powers  than  the  birds. 
To-morrow  is  the  Sabbath.  We  all  go  to  the 
little  church  on  the  lake ;  a  poor  place,  but  I 
mean  it  shall  be  better.  You  will  go  and  sing, 
not  for  yourself,  but  to  His  glory  who  gave  you 
this  voice.  Shall  it  be  so?" 

"Will  He  like  me  to?" 

"  Assuredly,  as  much  as  he  likes  the  adoring 
music  of  the  seraphim." 

"  I  'm  glad  you  told  me ;  now  I  shall  like  it 
better." 

They  sat  together  silent  for  a  while — one 
near  the  sunset  of  life,  the  other  with  holier 
thoughts  than  she  had  ever  known  before. 


WHAT  GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

The  next  morning  the  long  shed  open  to  the 
lake  was  filled ;  the  blacks  at  one  end  sitting 
close  upon  the  benches,  young  children  packed 
at  their  feet,  where  a  warning  toe  could  be  ad- 
ministered if  they  were  too  restless  during  the 
service.  The  whites  were  by  themselves  at  the 
other  end.  Ned  had  arranged  a  few  camp-chairs 
outside  for  the  ladies  of  the  two  households  in 
the  shade  of  live  oaks  covered  with  festoons  of 
gray  moss.  Harry  and  Kitty  occupied  stools 
beside  a  huge  fallen  tree,  which  gave  them  an 
easy  support,  close  by  their  cousin.  A  few  dogs 
crouched  quietly  near  their  masters.  Mrs.  Kent 
placed  a  small  vase  of  brilliant  bloom  beside  the 
Bible  upon  the  pastor's  stand. 

He  was  a  young  man  doing  missionary  work 
in  that  county,  had  spent  the  night  before  at  the 
doctor's,  and  came  with  them  across  the  lake. 
It  was  a  rough  place  of  worship,  a  primitive 
gathering,  quiet,  reverent,  and  worshipful.  The 
services  were  simple  and  earnest.  The  young 
pastor  spoke  in  a  language  suited  to  them,  ta- 
king them  with  him  into  the  presence  of  the 
Master  he  loved.  They  were  but  children  of  a 
larger  growth  and  followed  as  he  led.  His  voice 
was  clear  and  distinct,  his  words  plain  and  easily 
comprehended.  He  prayed  as  being  one  with 
them,  needing  the  same  help,  desiring  the  same 
gifts,  stooping  to  their  capacity  or  raising  them 


DOT'S  OUTING.  293 

through  his  sympathy  and  the  divine  love  to  a 
higher  level  than  they  could  have  reached  alone. 
The  short  sermon  was  easy  to  remember  and 
use  in  their  daily  lives  until  he  should  come 
again  in  two  weeks. 

They  sang  many  times.  It  was  a  part  of  the 
worship  they  enjoyed  with  their  whole  hearts, 
in  which  they  could  all  join.  They  poured  out 
their  sorrows  with  almost  unconscious  pathos 
and  their  gladness  in  jubilant  measure.  The 
first  hymn  after  the  sermon  was,  "  Knocking, 
knocking,  who  is  there  ?"  and  every  voice  rang 
out,  at  first  like  a  startled  cry,  and  then  merging 
into  the  tender  pathetic  melody  of  the  reply : 

"  But  the  door  is  hard  to  open, 
For  the  weeds  and  ivy-vine, 
With  their  dark  and  clinging  tendrils, 
Ever  round  the  hinges  twine." 

Through  it  all,  above  and  beyond  the  fulness 
of  the  multitudinous  voices,  rose  one  clear  ring- 
ing note,  like  the  song  of  a  lark  soaring  above 
the  crowd,  piercing  with  richest  melody  the  blue 
of  heaven. 

"  Knocking,  knocking.    What,  still  there  ? 
Waiting,  waiting,  grand  and  fair." 

The  birdlike  voice  trembled  and  faltered.  Dot's 
eyes,  with  more  thought  than  they  had  ever 
held  before,  caught  Mrs.  Kent's  gaze  fixed  lov- 
ingly upon  her.  Did  the  Saviour  look  into 


294  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

the  girl's  heart  through  his  servant's  adoring 
eyes? 

"  Yes,  the  pierce'd  hand  still  knocketh, 

And  beneath  the  crowned  hair 
Beam  the  patient  eyes  so  tender 
Of  thy  Saviour  waiting  there." 

She  had  sung  this  many  times  before  without 
these  strange  feelings ;  what  could  they  signify  ? 
Why  was  the  merry,  careless  girl  so  strangely 
moved  ?  The  simplicity  and  beauty  of  the  place, 
the  fervor  of  the  blacks,  the  weary  longing  in 
some  of  the  faces  of  the  poor  whites,  the  chil- 
dren's high  treble,  the  wildness  of  the  whole 
scene,  so  far  from  home,  so  unlike  anything  she 
had  ever  before  experienced,  suddenly  overcame 
this  joyous  nature.  Perhaps  the  tender,  spirit- 
ual face  of  the  old  lady  recalled  her  words  of  the 
day  before. 

Whatever  the  cause  matters  not.  Dot  saw 
in  the  past  a  life  of  thoughtless  selfishness  ;  her 
eyes  filled,  her  lips  quivered,  she  could  sing  no 
more.  She  felt  unworthy  to  join  with  these 
humble,  reverent  worshippers.  Though  famil- 
iar with  Bible  truth  and  often  impressed  with 
its  divine  power,  she  had  never  so  felt  the  Sa- 
viour's claim  upon  her  life  and  upon  this  pre- 
cious gift  of  song  that  she  had  so  rejoiced  in, 
had  so  thanklessly  received  and  used. 

It  should  be  his  now.  She  was  sure  she 
could  never  sing  again  without  remembering 


DOT'S   OUTING. 

the  divine  source  of  the  gift.  With  an  impul- 
sive motion  she  threw  back  her  head  in  the  old 
glad  style,  dashed  her  tears  away,  and  looked 
into  the  old  lady's  eyes  with  such  a  commin- 
gling of  consecration  and  genuine  humility  that 
a  smile  of  recognition  lighted  the  sweet,  saintly 
face.  The  two  were  servants  of  the  same  Mas- 
ter, daughters  of  the  same  King. 


296  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

MOTHER   KENT. 

"  LUCY,  there 's  a  boat  on  the  lake,  only  one 
person  in  it.  I  should  think  it  was  a  woman 
alone." 

"Yes;  it's  Mother  Kent  on  her  mission 
among  the  blacks  of  the  other  place.  Some  one 
is  ailing  perhaps.  They  are  very  kind  to  them, 
and  I  think  that  is  one  great  reason  of  the  easy 
government ;  Harry  has  had  very  little  trouble 
with  them.  They  have  a  kind  of  superstitious 
reverence  for  the  old  lady." 

"  Is  her  son  crazy  to  allow  her  to  come  over 
that  water  alone  ?  Is  it  safe  ?" 

"  It  would  n't  be  for  me,  but  she  often  rows  ; 
it 's  her  short  cut  to  the  settlement.  The  people 
look  upon  her  as  their  guardian  spirit.  All  their 
vexations  and  ailments  are  poured  out  to  her ; 
while  the  poor  whites  on  the  other  side  of  the 
place  depend  upon  her  to  settle  all  their  difficul- 
ties, nurse  their  sick,  and  provide  their  necessi- 
ties when  they  are  too  feeble  or  improvident. 
She  does  it  all  with  the  loveliest  spirit." 

"That  boat  moves  along  quietly  enough. 
Do  you  never  have  sudden  storms  ?" 


MOTHER   KENT.  297 

"  Later  in  the  year  they  come  in  great  force 
and  beauty.  You  should  see  one.  It  was  a  new 
experience  to  me." 

"  They  are  fine  ?"  Miss  Clarissa  asked  absent- 
ly. She  was  watching  the  boat  on  the  lake  with 
evident  anxiety. 

"  Terrific  sometimes ;  oftener  a  short  down- 
pour that  floods  the  earth  and  is  quickly  ab- 
sorbed by  the  sandy  soil,  and  freshens  every- 
thing wondrously.  Even  a  short  shower  comes 
with  a  pleasant  rush  and  abundance  that  means 
business,  but  the  real  tempest  comes  after  days 
of  stifling  heat,  comes  in  power,  like  a  conquer- 
ing, overwhelming  force.  The  atmosphere  is 
parched  and  burning.  One  prays  for  rain  to 
cool  the  lifeless  air.  The  sky,  like  a  vast  canopy 
of  heated  metal,  scorches  everything.  Then  the 
clouds  gather  thick  and  fast,  hanging  low  and 
black,  lightning  flashes  in  a  continuous  sheet  of 
flame,  and  the  reverberations  are  increasing, 
crashing  over  your  head  with  a  din  that  is  fright- 
ful. The  forest  bends  and  sways  and  groans ; 
the  great  branches  twist  and  crash  and  break. 
The  iroods  pour  down,  blotting  every  object  out 
of  view ;  you  lose  sight  of  garden,  grove,  and 
hummock.  Our  pretty  lake  is  a  seething,  angry 
volcano.  You  are  glad  of  the  rain ;  you  can 
breathe  again,  and  before  your  terror  is  well 
over  the  clouds  have  parted,  great  patches  of 


298  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

blue  come  out,  the  sun  struggles  through  the 
last  big  drops  and  the  whole  world  laughs  with 
its  well-washed  face,  crowned  with  the  beautiful 
bow  of  promise.  You  must  stay  long  enough, 
Clarissa,  to  see  a  genuine  summer  shower." 

"  I  mean  to  stay  until  Maggie  can  have  a 
good  rest.  She  will  come  in  February  I  hope. 
Lucy,  that  boat  is  surely  coming  here." 

"  So  she  is ;  I  '11  run  down  and  help  her  fas- 
ten it.  Just  pull  out  another  rocker." 

The  gentle  old  lady  had  evidently  changed 
her  course  and  drawn  up  to  the  Brainard  land- 
ing. The  two  ladies  secured  the  boat  and  turned 
towards  the  house.  There  was  no  air  stirring, 
not  a  ripple  on  the  lake.  Aunt  Clarissa,  on  the 
veranda,  expressed  admiration  in  her  face  and 
her  welcome  by  her  lips. 

"  I  'm  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Kent.  But 
your  mode  of  travel  looks  to  me  like  tempting 
Providence.  Sit  here  and  rest ;  your  arms  must 
ache." 

She  could  not  conceal  her  perturbation  at  the 
apparent  risk. 

"  No,  I  am  not  tired ;  it  is  our  best  and  quick- 
est way  to  get  about." 

"  But  alone.     How  dare  you  ?" 

"The  boat  is  safe,  easy  to  propel,  and  my 
arms  are  pretty  strong  for  an  old  lady.  But  I 
do  n't  always  row  myself ;  to-day  the  men  were 


MOTHER  KENT.  299 

busy  and  my  son  had  bis  pupil  with  him.  I 
would  n't  disturb  them." 

"  Ned  shows  a  worthy  determination  to  press 
on.  The  doctor  is  more  than  kind  to  assist 
him." 

"  He  may  not  be  quite  unselfish  ;  we  like  con- 
tact with  the  young  in  our  long,  lonely  days.  I 
started  out  to  see  some  of  the  negroes,  but  you 
looked  so  comfortable  among  the  vines  I  could  n't 
resist  running  in.  Where  are  the  young  peo- 
ple?" 

"  Gone  home  with  Auntie.  She  has  an  old 
sister  who  is  feeble.  Your  son  has  her  in  charge." 

"  Yes,  old  Auntie  Phillis." 

"  Dot  was  eager  to  go  with  her ;  she  thinks 
she  has  never  seen  anything  quite  so  comical  as 
the  crowd  of  young  blacks  at  the  cabins.  But 
they  are  coming ;  I  hear  voices  in  the  woods." 

"  Well  they  are  having  a  merry  time,  to  be 
sure,"  exclaimed  Aunt  Clarissa,  as  the  noisy 
party  issued  from  the  dense  growth  which  en- 
tirely concealed  from  the  house  the  path  which 
had  been  cleared  through  the  hummock  into  the 
low  coarse  grass  that  here  and  there  tufted 
through  the  tawny  sand. 

A  shout  of  greeting  went  up  for  the  ladies  on 
the  veranda.  Kitty  was  riding  on  a  well-taught 
mule ;  long  strands  of  gray  moss  had  been  wound 
about  her  broad  straw  hat,  and  falling  back 


WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

mingled  with  her  flaxen  locks ;  vines  and  wreaths 
were  scattered  over  the  child  and  the  head  of  the 
mule  who,  unlike  the  traditional  members  of  the 
tribe,  was  very  docile  and  obedient.  He  was  led 
by  a  colored  boy,  whose  anxious  desire  to  please 
the  child  gave  to  his  face  a  touch  of  gravity  and 
wise  foresight  that  might  have  descended  through 
the  ages  from  him  whose  name  he  bore.  Solo- 
mon was  about  twelve,  sturdy,  strong,  and  black 
as  ebony.  His  brother  Andrew,  a  little  in  front, 
and  somewhat  younger,  was  tugging  a  basket  of 
eggs  and  fowl  for  Auntie.  Harry  and  Dot  fol- 
lowed, picturesquely  laden  with  blossoms — great 
purple  spikes,  bunches  of  the  yellow  bloom  of 
the  cactus,  and  long  vines  of  the  abundant  wild 
passion-flower  with  its  delicately  tinted  bloom. 

"  See  me,  mamma !"  called  Kitty  gleefully. 

"  See !  Make  him  gallop,  Sol ;  tell  Andy  to 
get  out  the  way.  Andy,  go  ahind !  We 's 
going  headwards  now." 

The  obedient  Andy,  showing  through  a  broad, 
good-natured  grin  magnificent  rows  of  ivory, 
halted  and  stepped  one  side  that  Kitty  might 
lead  the  way  to  the  house. 

"  That  child  will  never  learn  to  use  the  Eng- 
lish language  among  these  natives,  Harry." 

"  We  ought  to  be  more  careful,  that 's  a  fact ; 
but  she  's  having  her  own  sweet  will  here,  and 
thrives  on  it— little  barbarian." 


MOTHER  KENT.  3OI 

"  There 's  Mother  Kent !"  cried  Dot  delight- 
edly. The  old  lady  heard  and  gave  her  a  happy, 
welcoming  nod. 

Kitty  called  for  Harry  to  lift  her  down. 

"  I  kin  hist  little  missy  off  right  smart." 

"  No,  no,  Harry 's  strong.  You  are  n't  muscly, 
Sol." 

"  How  is  your  sister,  Auntie  ?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Kent. 

"  Mercy  sake,  Missy  Kent,  pears  like  ole  Phyl- 
lis gits  wus  all  de  time.  She  do  cough  dat  bad 
pears  like  it  break  'er  all  ter  fiddle-strings.  Mighty 
porely.  Doctor  done  gon'  on  'nudder  'scription. 
I  reckon  he 's  got  mighty  serus  hopes  'bout  her 
'covery.  I  tells  'er  she 's  pooty  old  for  dis  worl' 
anyway.  I  likes  to  'courage  her ;  an'  when  she 
gits  all  well  she  be  better,  dat 's  a  fact." 

She  went  round  the  corner  of  the  house  with 
her  basket  and  two  boys  to  the  kitchen,  gave 
each  a  large  piece  of  sweet-cake,  and  waved  them 
off. 

"  Dere  now,  you  two  chilluns,  git'  long  home 
wid  yer.  Don'  yer  be  hangin'  roun'  de  fambly. 
Kyent  waste  no  mo'  time ;  I  calculate  the  doctor's 
ole  mudder  '11  be  here  to  dinner.  Yo  boys  git 
along.  Hear,  Sol?" 

Satisfied  that  no  more  cake  would  be  forth- 
coming, with  a  species  of  whoop,  mingling 
thanks  and  farewell,  they  sprang,  agile  as 


302  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

monkeys,  to  the  mule's  back,  Andy  behind  his 
brother,  his  feet  standing  out  at  right  angles 
each  side  the  animal,  while  Sol's  elbows  as  he 
flourished  the  rawhide  took  the  same  general 
direction,  flapping  like  grotesque  wings  as  the 
mule  clumsily  galloped  back  and  was  lost  in  the 
forest. 

Mrs.  Kent  remained  to  dinner,  Dot  promis- 
ing to  sing  everything  she  knew  and  to  intro- 
duce her  to  all  their  family  pictures,  while  Harry 
assured  her  he  would  row  her  safely  back  before 
the  twilight  vanished. 

"  Dot,  ask  Auntie  to  make  us  a  little  cool  lime, 
water;  then  you  can  bring  the  box  of  horns 
pictures.  Will  you,  dear  ?" 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Lucy.  Come,  Harry,  we  can  make 
the  lemonade  and  not  trouble  Auntie.  She 's  way 
off  in  the  garden,  poor  old  thing !  Let 's  help 
her.  She 's  picking  strawberries,  I  do  declare, 
She  '11  never  get  enough  in  the  world ;  you  go 
help.  I  '11  take  the  drink  to  Aunt  Lucy,  then 
I  '11  come.  Old  Auntie  means  to  surprise  us  with 
the  first  berries.  She 's  the  best  old  creature  I 
ever  saw." 

They  carried  out  the  plan,  left  the  ladies 
chatting  over  the  cool  beverage,  and  to  old 
Auntie's  delight  offered  her  their  assistance. 

"  Yo'  see,  Massa  Harry,  dese  berries  done  git 
'spectably  ripe.  Plenty  fo'  yo'  dinner.  Massa 


MOTHER  KENT.  303 

Ned  hab  his  head  so  deep  in  de  books  he  dis- 
'members  de  garden  altogether.  We  'sprise 
him,  sho  'miff." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  keep  the  boys  to  pick  for 
you,  Auntie  ?  It 's  too  hot  work  for  you." 

"  Ya,  ha !  How  many  yo'  'spose  dere  be  lef '  ? 
Dat  Sol  done  git  ten  in  de  mouf  an'  one  in  de 
basket  every  time." 

"Why,  do  they  steal  like  that?  the  little 
scamps." 

"  Well,  missy,  dey  don'  rightly  call  it  stealin'. 
Dey  nebber  steals  out  'n  out.  Dey  means  all 
right.  De  Lord  knows  dat  jes'  as  well's  we 
does.  He  nebber  lays  a  few  berries  up  'gainst 
'em." 

"  Well,  let  them  work  and  earn,  not  take  what 
doesn't  belong  to  them." 

"  Don'  yo'  nebber  hear,  Massa  Harry,  how  de 
good  Lord  do  help  dose  dat  help  demselbs? 
Dey 's  honest  inside,  on'y  helpin'  demselbs  like, 
as  de  Lord  say." 

"  Oh,  Auntie,  you  know  better." 

"  Dat 's  a  fac.  Now  yo'  chilluns  take  dis  fruit 
right  in.  Yo'  face,  Miss  Dot,  de  bery  color  o' 
dem.  Yo'  mus'  go  in.  I  '11  get  the  'maters  an' 
yo'  go  long.  I 's  mighty  thankful  to  yo'  boff." 

Dot  bathed  and  cooled  her  face  before  going 
again  upon  the  veranda.  Harry  helped  his 
mother  arrange  the  table ;  such  a  mother-boy  he 


304  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

was,  she  depended  upon  him  as  if  he  had  been  a 
girl.  There  was,  however,  nothing  effeminate 
about  him ;  he  was  a  noisy,  rollicking  boy,  full 
of  courage,  activity,  and  manliness.  Not  stu- 
dious as  Ned  had  been,  too  full  of  play  for  that ; 
not  averse  to  adventure,  and  having  been  sub- 
jected to  more  than  one  hairbreadth  escape ; 
rushing  into  any  scene  of  danger  and  daring  that 
presented,  but  willing  to  listen  to  advice,  and 
never  refusing  instant  obedience  to  rightful 
authority.  These  qualities  made  him  very  dear 
to  his  mother.  She  gave  him  her  perfect  trust, 
and  that  caused  him  to  be  reliable,  to  be  worthy 
of  the  confidence  placed  in  him. 

She  would  never  have  needed  the  advice 
given  to  a  young  mother  by  her  revered  pastor, 
who  had  shown  remarkable  skill  in  training  and 
influencing  boys  and  young  men.  "  Whatever 
else  you  do,"  he  had  said,  "  do  n't  nag  your 
boys."  It  was  a  timely  hint.  Homes  would  be 
happier  if  all  mothers  knew  and  would  remem- 
ber it.  Give  the  boys  a  chance  to  develop  rightly 
under  the  mother-love.  Let  them  frolic  and 
play  and  effervesce  to  their  hearts'  content.  Give 
the  young  coltish  spirits  headway,  under  a  wise, 
almost  imperceptible  control;  no  matter  how 
long  the  life  or  how  varied,  the  one  brightest 
spot  in  it  will  be  childhood's  home. 

41  You  must  see  my  father  and  mother  first, 


MOTHER  KENT.  30$ 

Mrs.  Kent.  And  here 's  Uncle  Eric,  papa's  bro- 
ther." 

"  Much  younger,  is  he  not?" 

"Oh  ever  so  much.  There  were  several 
between  them,  but  they  died.  Uncle  Eric  is  a 
grand  playfellow.  He  teaches  Clare  everything, 
from  bicycling  to  conic  sections." 

"  And  whose  quiet  face  is  this  ?  There 's 
character  there." 

"  That 's  Clare,  my  only  sister.  How  I  wish 
she  were  here !  She 's  auntie's  girl,  named  for 
her ;  they  are  much  alike." 

"  I  thought  you  must  be  auntie's  girl,  or  why 
did  she  choose  you  for  travelling  companion?" 

"  It  was  simply  a  matter  of  convenience. 
Clare  could  n't  leave  her  work  with  Uncle  Eric 
very  well,  and  Maggie  was  in  training  for  a 
nurse.  I  was  the  only  one  left.  I  came  in  a 
kind  of  Jack-at-the-pinch  way." 

"  And  who  is  Maggie  ?  It 's  a  precious  name 
to  me ;  my  youngest  sister  was  called  Margaret." 

"  Where  is  she  ?"  asked  Dot. 

"  She  was  lost  at  sea,  my  dear,  years  ago. 
Who  is  your  Maggie  ?" 

"Auntie's  adopted  niece,  Maggie  Brainard. 
I  '11  find  her  picture.  She  's  training  for  a  nurse 
in  the  hospital.  Auntie !"  she  called  to  Miss 
Clarissa,  who  had  followed  her  sister  to  offer 
services,  which  were  not  needed. 

Wh»»  Girls  call  Do.  2O 


306  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"Yes,  Dot." 

"  Where  is  your  picture  of  Maggie  ?" 

Miss  Clarissa  stepped  back  to  her  room  and 
returned  with  a  fine  likeness  of  the  young  girl. 
She  made  a  striking  picture,  her  form  finely 
developed,  her  abundant  hair  well  arranged  to 
show  to  advantage  a  shapely  head,  and  brilliant 
black  eyes  looking  one  directly  in  the  face. 

"  This  is  my  girl,  Mrs.  Kent.  I  expect  her 
here  the  last  of  February  to  go  back  with  us." 

"  That  will  be  delightful ;  we  can't  have  too 
many  young  people  in  our  seclusion."  She  took 
the  photograph  in  her  hand,  looked  at  it  in  a  star- 
tled manner,  then  fixed  a  long  troubled  gaze 
upon  Miss  Brainard's  face  and  turned  again  to 
the  picture  in  her  hand.  Dot  was  absorbed  in 
her  lapful  of  cards  of  various  sizes,  but  Miss 
Brainard  was  perplexed  and  confused  by  the 
old  lady's  peculiar  emotion. 

"  This !  Your  girl !  Yours !  Why,  Miss  Clar- 
issa, it  is  my  young  sister,  lost  in  the  ocean. 
Where — where  did  you  get  it  ?  My  sister  Mar- 
garet." 

Miss  Clarissa  was  startled,  Dot  confused, 
imagining  the  little  old  lady  had  lost  her  men- 
tal balance.  For  a  moment  they  gazed  silently 
in  her  face,  flushed  and  quivering  with  excite- 
ment. 


MOTHER  KENT.  307 

"  Where  did  you  get  this  picture,  Miss  Brain- 
ard?" 

"  Mrs.  Kent,  tell  me  your  sister's  name ;  per- 
haps I  can  explain  the  likeness." 

"  It  is  her  face,  her  very  self.  I  am  the  old- 
est of  seven ;  she  was  the  youngest,  fifteen  years 
between  us.  My  mother  died  at  her  birth,  my 
father  a  few  years  after.  She  was  as  a  child  to 
me.  Her  name  was  Margaret.  She  married 
Henry  Doane,  whose  health,  never  firm,  gave 
way  under  business  pressure,  and  he  was  sent 
South.  I  never  saw  her  after  that.  He  died  at 
St.  Augustine  among  strangers,  leaving  her  with 
a  young  child  and  its  nurse.  As  soon  as  she 
could  she  took  passage  in  a  sailing  vessel,  whose 
captain  had  shown  a  friendly  interest  in  her  hus- 
band, and  who  was  going  direct  to  Boston.  Ah 
I  know  little  more ;  they  never  entered  port ; 
only  rumors  reached  us  of  the  loss  of  such  a  ves- 
sel, none  saved ;  no  details  ever  reached  us. 
We  waited,  hoped,  and  prayed,  until  weeks 
slipped  into  months  and  years ;  she  never  came. 
And  this — this  is  her  face.  Excuse  me,  it  is 
almost  exact.  I  have  a  portrait  of  my  Margaret 
in  my  room.  You  shall  see  it.  But  this  ?  Are 
you  sure  it  is  your  child  ?' ' 

"  I  think  I  can  explain,  Mrs.  Kent.  But  you 
will  be  calm  ?  I  believe  my  Maggie  is  your  sis- 
ter's child,  and  my  adopted  niece." 


308  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  Saved  ?"  whispered  the  old  lady. 

"  Yes,  dear  Mrs.  Kent,  saved  with  the  Irish 
nurse  who,  finding  the  mother  lost,  kept  the 
child." 

She  then  told  the  story  as  we  know  it. 
Mrs.  Kent's  face  had  been  almost  an  ashy  white 
at  the  first  shock,  but  as  incident  after  incident 
was  related  as  quickly  as  possible,  for  Miss 
Brainard  feared  the  result  of  the  excitement 
upon  one  so  frail  looking,  the  flush  came  back 
until  her  cheeks  were  suffused  with  a  pink  glow 
and  her  gentle  eyes  almost  flamed. 

The  gentlemen  came  in  the  midst  of  the 
recital,  and  it  must  be  repeated.  They  could 
scarcely  credit  the  strange  development.  The 
dinner  was  like  to  prove  a  failure  for  the  dear 
old  lady,  until  Auntie  came  in  with  a  tiny  cup  of 
fresh  tea,  saying, 

"  Pears  like  de  doctor's  mou'nin'  dove  gits 
pow'ful  'cited,  so  much  dis  'lapidated  talk.  Tak' 
yo'  tea  fus',  den  yo'  wont  git  so  upsot." 

It  had  the  happy  effect  of  turning  the  tide. 
Ned  called  Harry  from  the  table  where  they  were 
enjoying  their  first  real  feast  of  strawberries — 
Auntie's  surprise — and  told  him  to  row  over  to  the 
doctor's  and  ask  him  to  come  back  with  him,  as 
there  was  news  for  them,  but  to  explain  nothing. 

In  half  an  hour  they  were  all  established 


MOTHER  KENT.  309 

again  upon  the  veranda,  the  younger  members 
on  the  dry  grass  below,  but  all  deeply  interested 
in  the  strange  story.  As  it  progressed  Dot  left 
her  cousins  and  drew  a  stool  to  Mrs.  Kent's  side ; 
this  new  friend  held  a  strange  attraction  for  the 
impulsive  girl. 

The  doctor  could  hardly  credit  the  story ;  but 
the  name,  the  face,  so  like  the  portrait  in  his 
mother's  room,  the  marked  clothing,  and  per- 
haps the  vague  memories  of  Maggie,  verified  the 
wondrous  tale.  Mrs.  Kent  was  in  a  state  of 
nervous  excitement  entirely  new  to  her  son,  who 
found  himself  watching  her  with  considerable 
anxiety. 

Miss  Clarissa  saw  that  even  though  she 
seemed  to  come  and  go  as  she  listed,  it  was  not 
without  his  watchful  care  and  full  assurance  of 
her  safety.  She  had  been  a  devoted  mother  to 
this  only  son,  and  in  this,  her  quiet  old  age,  the 
loving  solicitude  was  but  reversed.  He  noted 
every  varying  shade  in  her  face  as  question  and 
answer  followed  each  other — the  bright  spots 
of  color  in  the  usually  pale  cheeks,  the  excited 
gleam  in  the  eyes  always  calm,  the  indignant, 
close-shut  lips  as  Maggie's  early  trials  were 
hinted  at,  the  tears  that  started  at  the  picture  of 
Clare  and  Dot's  dressing  her  for  a  share  in  the 
Christmas-tree,  the  trembling  hand  with  its  del- 
icate blue  veins  that  caressed  Dot's  head  lean- 


310  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

ing  lovingly  against  her ;  and  the  grateful  look 
upon  Aunt  Clarissa  as  she  spoke  of  her  love  for 
the  girl  and  her  consent  in  allowing  her  to  take 
up  the  work  of  nurse  at  the  hospital. 

It  was  an  hour  of  intense  interest.  Ned  sat 
like  one  entranced,  not  a  word  escaped  him. 
Harry,  with  bright  eyes  and  mouth  puckered 
into  a  silent  whistle,  occasionally  vented  his  ex- 
citement in  a  boyish  exclamation.  Kitty  was 
asleep  in  the  hammock,  forgotten  by  all.  The 
doctor  broke  the  charm  by  telling  them  the  moon 
was  low,  and  they  must  start  at  once  if  they 
would  be  lighted  on  the  way. 

"  I  must  have  her  here,  Miss  Brainard ;  I  must 
see  her."  Mother  Kent's  voice  quivered  and 
broke. 

"You  shall,  God  willing.  I  will  send  and 
hasten  her  coming.  But  we  '11  tell  her  nothing 
until  she  is  here,  I  think." 

"  That  is  best,  Miss  Brainard.  Come,  come, 
mother ;  I  shall  have  you  down  with  nervous  pros- 
tration if  you  stay  another  minute.  We  11  have 
the  little  Maggie,  be  sure.  We  must  respect  Miss 
Brainard's  claim,  but  I  believe  she  '11  share  with 
us.  Come,  wife,  fold  mother  in  her  shawl  and 
bring  her  along  ;  I  '11  run  on  and  get  the  boat 
ready." 

They  all  went  to  the  beach,  and  while  the 
good-nights  were  passing  the  doctor  whispered 


MOTHER  KENT.  311 

to  Dot  to  sing  something  to  soothe  his  mother's 
excitement  as  they  rowed. 

"What  shall  it  be?" 

"Anything.  The  sound  of  your  voice  does 
her  good ;  I  never  saw  her  so  moved." 

As  they  pulled  out  into  the  silver  line  of  the 
moon's  reflection  Dot's  voice  rang  out  sweet, 
clear,  and  beautiful,  filling  the  silence  with  mel- 
ody that  had  its  effect  upon  every  heart,  sooth- 
ing, quieting,  and  bringing  a  restful  faith  that 
could  not  doubt  the  guiding  hand  divine  in 
every  believer's  life. 


312  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

STOOPS  TO  CONQUER. 

GREAT  preparation  was  being  made  in  the 
home  of  the  Millers.  Knowledge  of  it  had  crept 
abroad  among  the  many  nattering  friends  that 
the  young  heiress  was  approaching  another  birth- 
day and  was  to  make  merry  with  her  favored 
friends  in  profuse  and  elaborate  style. 

It  was  to  be  the  most  select  and  elegant  gath- 
ering of  the  season.  Rooms  were  already  being 
engaged  at  the  hotels  for  guests  from  a  distance. 
Nothing  that  the  most  cultivated  taste  could  de- 
sire or  the  most  capricious  will  demand  or  un- 
limited wealth  supply  would  be  wanting.  It 
was  to  be  Nellie's  grand  triumph.  She  was  to 
take  her  place  in  society  as  a  leader  in  the 
world's  gayety.  It  was  her  highest  ambition. 
Her  whole  education  had  aimed  at  this  result. 
The  mother  had  asked  for  nothing  higher  for 
this  only  child,  and  she  was  satisfied. 

Twenty  years  of  life  her  child  had  danced 
away,  with  sips  of  evanescent  delight  here  and 
there,  as  a  heedless  butterfly  flutters  from  one 
bloom  to  another,  seeking  fresher  sweets,  soon 
cloyed,  and  sinking  drowsily  upon  the  last  frail- 
stalked  flower. 


STOOPS  TO   CONQUER.  313 

It  was  drawing  near,  this  grand  climax.  The 
hours  were  full  of  anticipation,  like  glowing 
golden  lines  converging  to  one  bright  point,  the 
most  brilliant  of  her  life. 

But  one  desire  as  yet  remained  ungratified, 
simplest  of  all  the  costly  preparations,  and  yet 
she  had  failed  to  compass  it,  had  scarcely  dared 
propose  it  to  her  mother,  who  was  so  bitter  in 
her  dislikes  and  strong  in  her  prejudices.  Mr. 
Miller,  in  his  good-natured  ignorance  of  their 
petty  jealousies  and  weak  vanities,  hastened  the 
matter  by  asking  one  evening  about  the  floral 
decorations  for  the  all-important  occasion. 

"I  should  like  to  know  who  arranged  the 
flowers  at  the  McArthurs  and  the  Athertons; 
they  were  very  artistic  and  very  unlike,"  re- 
sponded the  wife.  "  I  would  like  to  engage  the 
same  florist." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  could,  mamma." 

"  And,  pray,  why  not  ?" 

"  Because  this  florist,  or  artist  as  she  is  called, 
works  only  for  friends.  She  is  in  great  demand 
since  Mrs.  St.  John  picked  her  up ;  there  's  a  per- 
fect craze  over  her." 

"  Money  will  do  everything.     Who  is  she  ?" 

"  I  wish  we  could  engage  her.  No  one  can 
do  it  as  she  does,  and  Is-  do  want  everything 
perfect — a  little  better  than  any  other,  mam- 
ma." 


3H  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"I  know,  and  so  it  shall  be;  you  shall  be 
satisfied.  Where  is  this  woman  to  be  found? 
1 11  engage  her  at  once." 

"  Well,  mamma,  I  hardly  think  so.  It 's  Bar- 
bara Allen,  my  old  school  enemy ;  and  no 
amount  of  money  would  prevail  upon  her  to  do 
it  for  me." 

"Nonsense,  Nellie,"  said  Mr.  Miller.  "If 
you  mean  that  nice  little  girl  that  found  May 
for  us,  you  mistake  her.  She 's  a  little  lady ; 
treat  her  like  one.  If  she  does  such  work  for 
others  she  will  for  you,  or  I  lose  my  guess." 

"  I  wish  she  would.  No  one  can  do  it  as  she 
does ;  everybody  is  enraptured  with  her  taste.  I 
don't  know  where  she  got  it,  I'm  sure.  Her 
father 's  nobody  but  a  workman." 

"  That  proves  nothing,  Nell ;  there  are  artis- 
tic workmen.  You  may  have  made  a  sad  blun- 
der." 

"  Well,  I  do  n't  care,  papa.  I  never  liked  the 
way  Clare  Hamlin  and  Etta  took  her  up ;  it  just 
disgusted  me.  What  use  is  there  of  different 
grades  of  society  if  the  lines  are  totally  ignored  ? 
So  we  were  never  friendly,  and  I  suppose  it's 
useless  to  ask  her  to  do  it  for  me." 

"  I  shall  go  to  her  at  once  and  pay  her  any- 
thing she  asks,  only  it  must  be  her  very  best." 

"  You  had  better  let  Nellie  see  her  about  this 
matter." 


STOOPS  TO   CONQUER.  315 

"  Why  so  ?"  asked  his  wife  sharply. 

"  Oh  girls  know  the  ins  and  outs  of  girl  na- 
ture. I  have  an  idea  she  would  do  it  for  her. 
But  I  would  say  nothing  of  remuneration,  Nell, 
at  first." 

Mr.  Miller  very  shrewdly  divined  the  obsta- 
cles in  the  way  and  advised  accordingly.  He 
had  a  pleasant  remembrance  of  the  sweet  face 
at  his  door  after  that  night  of  fruitless  search,  of 
the  gentle,  noble  bearing  as  she  declined  his 
reward  for  what  she  had  gladly  done.  She 
would  still  be  willing  to  spend  and  be  spent  in 
conquering  an  unworthy  spirit. 

"Well,  Nellie,  we'll  go  together.  I'll  re- 
main in  the  carriage  and  let  you  bargain  with 
her.  But  do  n't  fail ;  I  'm  determined  to  have 
this  reception  of  yours  eclipse  any  and  all 
others." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Nellie  did  not  anti- 
cipate her  part  in  the  programme  with  any  satis- 
faction or  even  hope  of  success ;  but  she  must 
not  allow  any  obstacle,  even  one  so  insignificant 
as  Barbara,  to  stand  in  the  way  of  the  perfect 
result  she  wished  to  accomplish.  Therefore  in 
one  of  her  many  elegant  costumes  and  with  the 
grace  so  natural  and  easy,  she  stood  the  next 
morning  before  Mr.  Allen's  door. 

A  flush  of  surprise  tinged  Barbara's  cheek  as 
she  recognized  her  caller.  She  felt  an  impulse  to 


316  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

welcome  her  in  the  old  eager,  schoolgirl  fashion, 
but  not  daring  to  risk  a  repulse  she  quietly  invi- 
ted her  in,  saying, 

"  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,  Nellie.  Will  your 
mother  come  in  also  ?" 

"  No,  Barbara,  it 's  only  a  matter  of  business. 
I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me.  I  wonder 
if  you  would  ?" 

"  Why,  gladly,  Nellie.     What  can  I  do  ?" 

"  Well,  I  must  say,  Barbara,  it 's  very  good  of 
you  to  be  willing.  I  shall  be  so  glad  and  thank- 
ful too.  I  want  you  to  arrange  the  flowers  for 
my  birthnight.  Will  you  ?" 

"  If  I  can—" 

"Oh  I  know  you  can.  I  don't  forget  your 
success  with  flowers ;  and  I  want  this  to  be  quite 
unlike  any  other — just  perfection,  stunning  as 
you  can  make  it,  you  know.  I  will  provide  any- 
thing to  make  it  just  right.  May  I  depend  on 
you?" 

"  I  will  try." 

There  was  no  buoyancy  of  tone,  no  enthusi- 
asm such  as  marked  her  responses  to  other  like 
requests.  She  had  not  failed  to  read  the  selfish- 
ness of  Nellie's  desire.  It  would  not  have  been 
human  for  her  to  put  away  a  shade  of  vexation. 
Nellie  was  not  too  blind  to  see  it. 

"  It  will  make  me  very  happy  to  have  you  do 
it,  Barbara,  and  I  want  your  very  best." 


STOOPS  TO  CONQUER.  317 

"  You  shall  have  it,  Nellie." 

"  Thank  you.     It 's  ever  so  nice  in  you." 

There  were  a  few  more  arrangements  to 
make  and  they  parted. 

"  Bab,"  said  her  father  at  night,  "  I  wont 
have  you  do  it.  Work  for  your  friends,  my  girl, 
if  you  choose.  I  can't  have  you  subjected  to  her 
caprice." 

"  I  have  promised,  father  dear.  I  do  n't 
think  they  can  harm  me.  I  will  do  it  for  her. 
It  may  be  well." 

He  stood  and  looked  down  tenderly  upon 
this  child  of  his  love.  Why  had  he  not  been 
able  to  give  her  all  the  adornments  of  life  that 
other  girls  were  dowered  with?  Why  had  he 
not,  with  his  great  strength,  his  endurance,  over- 
come all  obstacles,  as  some  men  do,  and  given 
her  wealth  and  position?  His  love  was  as  fer- 
vent, his  desires  as  far-reaching.  He  had  the 
same  ambitions,  he  fought  the  same  fight. 

For  a  while  he  held  her  gaze,  then  turning, 
said  sadly,  "Circumstances  are  against  us,  Bab." 

"  Why,  father,  what  do  you  mean  ?  You 
must  not  talk  so.  Providence  is  for  us,  and  that 
is  best." 

"  You  may  be  right.  I  don't  like  to  have  my 
girl  take  a  servile  position  towards  that  beflum- 
meried  piece  of  importance." 

Barbara's  merry  laugh  pealed  out. 


318  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  I  shall  not  be  servile ;  but  I  love  to  be  help- 
ful. You  know  mother's  motto, '  Not  to  be  min- 
istered unto ' — 

" '  But  to  minister.'  Yes,  nothing  but  that 
reconciles  me  to  her  audaciousness  in  asking 
you.  But  do  n't  take  her  money,  Bab ;  it  would 
scorch  me." 

"  No,  father ;  I  '11  do  it  for  love's  sweet 
sake." 

The  evening  came.  The  sifting  light 
streamed  through  the  opened  doors,  threw  back 
reflected  gleams  from  polished  stairway  and 
rich  dark  mouldings,  heavy  tapestries  of  artistic 
tints  concealed  or  revealed  room  after  room  of 
elaborate  finish,  soft  carpets  welcomed  eager 
feet,  luxurious  cushioned  lounges  invited  repose^ 
great  vases  filled  with  fragrance  graced  the  e'ta. 
g£res  ;  brightness  and  beauty  reigned. 

For  once  Nellie's  satisfaction  was  at  white 
heat.  She  was  enchanted.  She  exclaimed  rap- 
turously to  Barbara, 

"You  have  outdone  yourself!  I  never  saw 
anything  so  beautiful  as  you  have  made  every 
spot  in  the  house !  Will  you  add  to  the  kind- 
ness one  favor  still  ?" 

She  was  very  winning  in  her  beauty  and 
this  new,  beseeching  grace  she  had  adopted  to. 
wards  her  humble  friend. 

"What  is  it,  Nellie?" 


STOOPS  TO   CONQUER.  319 

The  lady  winced  a  little  at  the  familiarity, 
but  there  was  too  much  at  stake  to  resent  it. 

"  Will  you  stay  and  arrange  the  dresses  and 
flowers  for  the  ladies  as  they  come  in  ?  You 
will  do  it  so  much  better  than  the  girls.  They 
are  clumsy  and  your  touch  is  just  right." 

She  waited  for  a  reply.  It  did  not  come  at 
once.  There  was  a  glow  in  Barbara's  face  deep 
as  the  heart  of  a  rose.  Could  she  do  it?  "I  am 
to  minister;  what  matter  how?"  she  thought, 
when  Nellie  asked  again  doubtfully, 

"You  will,  Barbara?" 

"  I  will  stay  ;  yes." 

"  You  are  kind." 

Nellie  was  sincere  now.  It  was  late  in  com- 
ing, but  she  felt  Barbara's  claim  to  something 
above  cold  thanks. 

One  after  another  the  maidens  submitted  to 
her  dainty  fashioning  of  their  adornments  with- 
out a  thought  but  that  she  was  a  nice  little  ser- 
vant-maid and  did  her  work  with  exquisite  skill. 
Where  could  the  Millers  have  found  her  ? 

Etta  came  in  with  a  breeze,  threw  off  her 
loose  garment,  and  stood  bewildered  to  see  her 
little  friend  in  that  house. 

"  Why,  Babette  !  How  strange  !  What  does 
it  mean  ?  Has  Nell  forgiven  you  for  existing  ?" 

"  I  am  here  to  make  you  look  your  prettiest 
for  the  festivities  below  ;  and  you  are  late." 


320  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

"  Yes,  I  had  a  long  story  for  Hale.  But  I 
can't  believe  it.  Did  Nell  ask  you  to  do  this? 
How  perfectly  audacious  !  I  have  a  mind  to  go 
home." 

"  But  it 's  my  chosen  work  ;  why  should  I  not 
do  it  ?  Come,  let  me  help  you  and  drive  you  off. 
I  must  go  soon.  I  think  you  are  the  last,  per- 
haps." 

"  Bah  !    It  takes  my  pleasure  all  away." 

"  No  need  of  that.     Will  Clare  come  ?" 

"  I  do  n't  think  so,  and  I  hope  she  wont. 
She  'd  be  raging  at  Nell's  impudence." 

"  There,  there,  go  on.    You  look  lovely !" 

"  'Look  /'     You  are  lovely  !" 

Barbara  never  before  worked  as  she  had  the 
last  week ;  and  now,  tired,  excited,  with  nerves 
unstrung,  she  drew  away  from  the  light  into  a 
dim  side  room  for  a  few  moments  of  rest  before 
going  home. 

Nellie  had  done  all  she  thought  necessary 
for  her  comfort ;  had  furnished  generous  re- 
freshments, of  which  Barbara  could  not  partake, 
had  begged  her  to  rest  all  she  could  consistent- 
ly, and  assured  her  the  carriage  would  be  ready 
any  moment  to  convey  her  home. 

Ah  she  was  so  weary !  She  sat  upon  a  lounge 
in  the  corner;  her  head  dropped  upon  the  pil- 
lows. It  was  so  restful.  She  could  look  into 
the  bright  dressing-room  beyond,  all  bestrewn 


STOOPS  TO  CONQUER.  321 

with  the  rich  furs  and  warm  wrappings  of  the 
guests.  They  waved  before  her  tired  eyes  like 
the  changing  colors  of  a  kaleidoscope.  The  far- 
off  music  reached  her;  the  murmur  of  glad 
tones,  the  hum  of  many  voices  swept  up  the 
broad  stairway.  Processions  of  lovely  young 
girls  bearing  wonderful  flowers  floated  before 
her  closed  eyes ;  she  was  dreaming.  The  ser- 
vants passed  back  and  forth. 

"  Poor  little  thing,"  they  said,  "  she  's  used 
up!" 

No  one  disturbed  her.  Instead  of  going  to 
the  father  who  waited  impatiently  for  her  com- 
ing, she  slept  on. 

Presently  a  terrific  shriek  rent  the  air  and 
awakened  her.  Her  eyes  opened  instantly  upon 
a  sea  of  flame.  The  heavy  lace  draperies  of 
the  large  double  window  of  the  dressing-room 
were  ablaze,  and  Nellie  stood  beneath  them  hor- 
ror-stricken. The  flames  ran  up  like  a  flash  ; 
they  smouldered  in  the  heavier  lambrequins, 
stayed  for  a  moment  by  the  thick  silken  stuff. 
Barbara  woke  in  an  instant,  every  faculty  alive, 
every  muscle  obedient.  With  a  bound  she  was 
in  the  room,  snatched  at  the  draperies,  tore 
them  from  their  support,  crushed  and  rolled 
them  among  afghans,  shawls,  anything  she  could 
grasp.  She  wrung  and  trampled  them  under 
foot  until  the  blaze  was  subdued.  Then  she 

Wb»t  GUIs  Can  Do.  21 


322  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

g-lanced  at  Nellie.  The  girl  was  paralyzed  by 
tear ;  she  had  not  moved.  Her  gauzy  dress  had 
caught  on  the  side,  and  a  single  jet  of  flame  was 
creeping  up  the  skirt. 

"  Lie  down,  Nellie,  lie  down !"  Barbara 
seized  a  fur-lined  garment  large  and  loose,  fold- 
ing it  quickly  close  about  her  bare  neck  and 
arms,  pulled  her  upon  the  carpet,  and  with  eager 
effort  extinguished  the  blaze.  Nellie  was  like  a 
log  in  her  hands ;  she  was  insensible.  Her  life 
seemed  to  have  gone  out  in  that  first  shriek  of 
horror  which  had  startled  the  house.  The  guests 
in  the  supper -room  listened  with  inquiring 
glances  and  awe-struck  faces.  What  had  hap- 
pened  ? 

"  That  was  Nell !  Where  is  she  ?"  asked  her 
father.  In  another  moment  he  was  up  the  stairs, 
through  the  halls  into  the  pretty  room,  soiled 
and  blackened  now,  and  Nell,  his  Nell,  lying 
helpless,  rolled  up  like  a  bale  of  goods,  and  the 
little  artist  on  the  floor  beside  her,  sobbing. 

"What  is  it,  Nellie?  Get  water.  Don't 
stand  gaping  there  like  idiots  !"  he  cried  to  the 
terrified  maids. 

Barbara  looked  up ;  she  waved  her  hands  in 
the  air  as  though  to  cool  them. 

"  She  is  not  burned,  Mr.  Miller ;   it  is  fright." 

"  Barbara  Allen  !  How  happened  it  ?  There, 
Nellie,  wake  up,  child ;  you  are  safe,  thank  God.*' 


STOOPS  TO   CONQUER.  323 

He  was  bathing  her  face. 

"  Better  now  ?  And  you  ?  You  saved  her 
life,  Barbara ;  God  bless  you !  What  might  it 
not  have  been !" 

Barbara  rose  and  staggered  towards  the  little 
room  where  her  outer  garments  had  been  left. 
Her  strength  had  vanished.  She  was  waving 
both  hands ;  she  longed  to  get  home.  It  was 
Etta's  arm  about  her,  Etta  who  was  putting  on 
cloak  and  hat,  who  sent  for  Burr  to  get  the  car- 
riage and  be  all  ready  to  go  with  her,  who  took 
the  trembling  girl  down  and  went  with  her  out 
to  the  carriage,  saying, 

"  Go  with  her,  Burr.  I  'm  afraid  her  hands 
are  burned  ;  take  her  home  quickly." 

"  Only  put  me  in,  Burr ;  I  can  go  alone ;  really 
I  do  n't  need  you." 

"  Well,  we  're  going,  anyway,  both  of  us," 
answered  Jack,  who  had  come  up,  adding,  "  You 
poor  little  martyr,  are  you  burned  ?" 

"  My  hands  a  little,  that  is  all." 

"  All !  And  this  is  your  reward  ?  Burr,  just 
dash  into  that  druggist's  and  get  a  jar  of  vasel- 
ine." It  took  but  a  moment,  and  they  were  soon 
at  home. 

Etta  went  back  to  find  Nellie  hysterically  in- 
clined, with  a  group  of  sympathizers  about  her. 
She  could  only  remember  that  she  left  the  re- 
freshment room  to  rearrange  a  stray  braid  that 


324  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

troubled  her.  A  maid  had  opened  the  window 
and  forgotten  to  close  it ;  the  curtains  blew  in 
her  face ;  she  hastily  gave  them  a  fling,  a  gust 
of  wind,  aided  by  the  impulse  of  her  motion,  sent 
the  lace  over  the  jet.  It  caught;  she  remem- 
bered nothing  more. 

"  Barbara  saved  you,  Nellie.  See,  your  dress 
is  a  cinder.  A  moment,  and  you  would  have 
been  enveloped  past  help.  Where  is  the  little 
thing  ?  I  must  see  her.  Was  she  hurt  ?" 

Barbara  had  gone.  Etta  answered  with  a 
tinge  of  bitterness, 

"  Her  hands  were  burned,  I  do  n't  know  how 
much.  She  'd  die  before  she  'd  complain." 

"  Cruel !  Who  went  home  with  her  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Miller.  "  I  hope  some  one  looked  out  for 
her." 

"  My  brother  and  Jack  took  her  home ;  I 
would  have  gone  myself,  but  she  could  n't  wait 
for  me." 

Mr.  Allen  was  waiting.  She  had  never  been 
so  late  before.  He  was  impatient  and  anx- 
ious. 

"  My  little  girl !"  was  all  he  could  say. 

She  tried  to  smile  bravely  back,  but  his  look 
of  distress  and  unutterable  love  overcame  her. 
Great  tears  rolled  over  her  face. 

It  was  Jack  with  his  skilful  manipulations 
that  from  the  soft  cotton  made  for  each  burned 


STOOPS  TO  CONQUER.  325 

finger  a  bed  of  cooling,  healing  vaseline  and 
bound  the  hands  safely  from  the  air.  Jack  and 
Burr  ministered  to  her  until  she  grew  calm  and 
could  tell  the  little  she  remembered. 

"  Well,  my  girl,  you  '11  have  nothing  more  to 
do  with  the  lady." 

"  Oh,  father,  do  n't  blame  Nellie  for  my 
hands.  Think,  if  I  had  not  been  there !  And, 
father  dear,  are  n't  you  glad  I  could  '  minister '  ?" 

"  Heaven  bless  you !" 

The  young  men  said  good-night,  Jack  offer- 
ing to  come  in  any  time  before  he  went  back  to 
his  work  and  help  her.  Mr.  Allen  shook  hands 
with  both  and  thanked  them,  saying,  "  Bab 
shall  have  a  nurse  to-morrow,  though  I  doubt  if 
she  can  be  more  skilful  than  you  have  proved 
yourself." 

Burr  had  scarcely  spoken.  He  had  not  known 
in  what  capacity  Barbara  had  been  there.  Not 
so  Jack.  A  word  from  Etta  gave  the  clew  to  his 
quick  perceptions.  He  fumed  inwardly,  and 
waited  only  to  find  some  suitable  place  to  vent 
his  anger. 

They  reentered  the  carriage. 

"  I  wont  go  back,  Burr.  He  may  drop  me  at 
home.  Such  a  piece  of  heartlessness  !" 

"  I  guess  it  was  all  accident,  Jack." 

"Accident!  Much  you  know!  Nellie  and 
her  mother  have  insulted  the  little  thing  from 


326  \\HAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

the  day  she  entered  school  in  that  funny  style  of 
dress.  She  's  a  lady  born  and  bred,  and  they 
have  n't  greatness  of  soul  enough  to  know  it.  I 
detest  such  a  spirit." 

"  I  too.  I  'd  no  idea  of  it.  Seems  to  me  I 
have  heard  Etta  fume  about  something  of  the 
sort,  but  it  passed  out  of  my  mind." 

"  Oh,  Burr,  my  good  fellow,  your  head  's  al- 
ways buried  fathoms  deep  in  books,  but  I  've  fol- 
lowed the  whole  thing.  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
the  basket  of  cold  food  ?" 

"No.    Go  ahead." 

Jack  told  the  story,  and  they  separated  with 
mutual  indignation. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Allen  got  his  own 
breakfast  under  Barbara's  jocose  directions.  She 
determined  to  carry  it  off  as  gayly  as  she  could, 
and  help  her  father  to  sustain  his  usual  good 
nature. 

Leaving  her  comfortable,  he  went  to  the  hos- 
pital to  see  if  Maggie  could  be  obtained  for  the 
emergency.  She  was  there  and  returned  with 
him.  It  was  a  happy  surprise  to  Barbara.  She 
was  petted  and  made  much  of  to  her  heart's 
content ;  for  the  first  time  in  her  young  life  she 
knew  the  meaning  of  being  "  ministered  unto." 

The  day  wore  on.  Before  noon  a  carriage 
drove  up.  Mrs.  Miller  came  in  with  Nellie  this 
time.  Her  husband  had  insisted.  They  were 


STOOPS  TO   CONQUER.  327 

not  prepared  to  find  their  little  serving-maid  dis- 
abled, and  Nellie,  whose  better  nature  had  been 
coming  to  the  surface,  gave  a  little  cry  of  unaf- 
fected horror  as  she  saw  the  bandaged  hands. 
She  sprang  towards  her,  took  the  delicate  face 
in  both  hands,  and  kissed  it  tenderly.  Her  eyes 
were  full,  her  heart  was  uncovered. 

"  Barbara  dear,  can  you  ever  forgive  me  ?" 

"  Do  n't,  Nellie.  It  has  made  me  so  glad  to 
be  able  to  do  something  for  you." 

"  But  oh  the  shame  for  me !  You  will  forgive 
me  ?  We  may  be  friends  ?" 

"  With  all  my  heart." 

"  We  are  shocked,  Miss  Allen,  that  you  should 
suffer  in  doing  this  for  us.  We  must  express 
our  gratitude,  and  do  all  we  can  for  you.  We 
can  never  repay  the  debt  we  owe  you.  But  you 
must  be  willing  to  receive  compensation  for  your 
beautiful  work.'\ 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Miller,  I  can  take  noth- 
ing. Nellie,"  she  added,  "don't  offer  me 
money  for  what  I  have  done  for  love;  accept 
the  love." 

"  I  will,  dear.  Mother,  she  shall  not  be  paid  ; 
she  cannot  be.  She  saved  my  life.  She  has 
given  me  back  to  you  and  papa.  It  shall  be 
just  as  she  says.  She  shall  be  my  friend,  my 
sister." 
The  tears  standing  in  Nellie's  eyes  overflowed. 


328  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

The  two  girls  understood  each  other  as  they 
had  never  before.  Nellie  asserted  her  right  to 
choose  her  friend. 

At  that  moment  Mr.  Allen  came  in.  His 
face  grew  stern  as  he  took  in  the  situation.  But 
Nellie  gave  him  no  time  to  form  conclusions; 
she  drew  near,  speaking  quickly,  looking  at  him 
through  wet  eyes. 

"Don't  look  so  stern,  Mr.  Allen.  I  am  so 
sorry,  so  ashamed !  Barbara  has  forgiven  me. 
Will  not  you  ?"  She  looked  very  winning.  He 
was  touched ;  his  eyes  smiled. 

"  My  little  girl  and  I  will  walk  abreast  in 
these  matters.  If  she  is  satisfied,  I  am." 

Mrs.  Miller  expressed  to  him  her  grief  and 
her  desire  to  recompense  his  daughter  most  lib- 
erally for  her  assistance,  and  hoped  he  would 
advise  her  to  accept  her  just  dues. 

"  My  daughter  is  right,  madam.  Miss  Nel- 
lie's acceptance  of  her  terms  is  of  far  more  value 
than  any  sum  of  money  could  be." 

There  was  nothing  more  to  say.  Nellie 
asked  if  she  could  come  again,  and  was  assured 
of  a  welcome.  After  that  not  a  day  passed  that 
she  did  not  come,  loaded  with  everything  that 
would  cheer  and  encourage  the  helpless  one. 
She  became  a  great  admirer  of  Maggie,  and  day 
after  day  the  girls  met  together  in  Barbara's 
humble  rooms,  as  joyous  a  band  of  friends  as 


STOOPS  TO   CONQUER.  329 

could  be  found  in  the  city.  To  Nellie  it  was  a 
new  existence.  By  the  time  Barbara's  hands 
were  well  Nellie  was  so  deeply  interested  in 
her  and  her  idyllic  mode  of  life  that  the  mother 
grew  alarmed.  But  Mr.  Miller  would  not  have 
the  intimacy  interrupted.  He  still  hoped  to  pre- 
vail upon  her  to  accept  a  worthy  gift  from  him 
or  from  Nellie. 

No  one  rejoiced  in  Nellie's  new  attitude 
towards  Barbara  more  than  Clare  did,  although 
she  had  no  part  in  the  event  that  finally  brought 
them  together.  She  expressed  in  every  look 
and  tone  the  pure  satisfaction  she  experienced. 
It  was  Clare  who  went  to  Mrs.  Ellis  with  the 
good  news,  that  Jack  might  get  it  through  his 
mother's  letters ;  Clare  who  wrote  Dot  of  the 
new  order  of  things  and  of  the  delightful  meet- 
ings they  were  holding  in  the  different  homes, 
the  loveliest  of  all  in  Barbara's  plain  but  pretty 
rooms. 

Barbara  had  not  seen  Jack  after  his  first  as- 
sistance. He  returned  the  next  morning  to  his 
work  in  the  neighboring  city.  The  study  of  law 
had  attracted  him.  He  had  settled  down  to  a 
reasonable  amount  of  diligence,  and  was  looking 
forward  to  a  year  abroad  as  soon  as  the  course 
was  over. 


33O  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

MAGGIE'S  VACATION. 

MAGGIE  had  graduated  with  her  class,  re- 
ceived her  diploma,  and  begun  her  work ;  she 
was  always  among  children  unless  the  call  other- 
where was  loudly  imperative.  Mothers  intui- 
tively recognized  her  rare  capacity,  her  firm,  lov- 
ing, sympathetic  touch,  her  indescribable  power 
over  the  sufferer.  They  trusted  her  faithful- 
ness, her  unswerving  rectitude,  and  honored 
her  independent  self-respect.  She  was  in  con- 
stant demand,  and  life  was  a  joy  to  her.  She 
gave  herself  to  it  with  a  fresh  delight  for  every 
case  where  the  slightest  hope  of  recovery  ex- 
isted. She  was  buoyant  and  bright  when  others 
doubted,  brave  when  others  feared,  almost  im- 
parting her  own  vitality  towards  the  recupera- 
tive powers  of  the  weaklings  that  rested  in  her 
arms.  It  was  well  into  February  when  she  re- 
ceived an  urgent  call  from  Miss  Brainard  to  has- 
ten to  her. 

There  was  no  explanation,  and  yet  the  family 
felt  that  something  was  held  in  reserve.  They 
were  assured  that  all  were  well ;  Maggie  was  not 
needed  as  nurse.  They  advised  her  to  wind  up 


MAGGIE'S  VACATION.  331 

her  affairs  and  start  immediately ;  a  little  vaca- 
tion would  not  harm  her. 

She  thrilled  with  desire  to  drop  everything 
and  fly  to  her  only  friend,  to  leave  behind  the 
pain,  sickness,  suffering  and  death,  the  care  and 
labor  that  crowded  her  days,  and  for  a  little 
indulge  in  entire  freedom  and  unlimited  rest. 
The  outlook  was  alluring ;  she  would  drop  every 
task,  and  without  one  backward  glance  obey  the 
call  of  the  only  one  on  earth  who  had  any  right 
to  her  obedience. 

A  long  talk  with  Mrs.  Hamlin  followed:  a 
trip  to  Stanton  Falls  with  Becky  for  a  day,  to 
rearrange  the  wardrobe  for  a  different  climate 
and  provide  a  substitute  to  meet  the  last  call  for 
her  services,  and  her  plans  were  perfected.  What 
could  be  more  satisfactory  ? 

For  a  few  days  it  was  the  engrossing  theme 
among  Barbara's  callers.  Etta,  Clare,  Nellie 
were  all  on  hand  to  advise  and  assist.  Barbara 
was  able  to  resume  her  homely  duties,  and  all 
were  glad  to  have  the  faithful  nurse  given  a 
holiday. 

Dot's  last  effusion  to  Clare  was  received  with 
jest  and  laughter.  Hale  performed  his  most 
breakneck  summersaults  in  response  to  Kitty's 
love  and  message  from  her  only  doll,  "  Bullet," 
the  name  having  clung  tenaciously  from  Ned's 
careless  greeting  to  the  much-abused  favorite. 


332  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

Though  Barbara's  hands  were  fairly  well,  they 
were  too  tender  but  for  the  mildest  service,  and 
Nellie's  basket  of  morning  supplies  which  she 
never  failed  to  bring  were  very  helpful. 

She  could  not  throw  herself  into  the  house- 
hold labor  as  Clare  and  Etta  did,  but  the  help 
she  could  bring  was  lovingly  rendered  and  gra- 
ciously accepted. 

Mr.  Allen  had  sometimes  appeared  on  the 
scene  to  find  Nellie  putting  last  touches  to  the 
dinner-table,  in  shape  of  a  slender  vase  of  flow- 
ers, a  tiny  dish  of  salad,  or  a  daintily  arranged 
cluster  of  fruits,  Etta  and  Clare  dishing  up  the 
less  ornamental  viands,  and  Barbara  fluttering 
happily  about,  as  a  mother-bird  would  overlook 
her  eager  brood.  Then  such  tuneful  laughter, 
such  gay  challenge  and  repartee,  merry  good- 
bys,  and  scurryings  away,  that  father  and  daugh- 
ter might  quietly  enjoy  their  mid-day  meal ! 

Nellie  declared  she  had  never  known  such 
fun.  Her  father  was  her  confidant.  He  enjoyed 
it  with  her  as  a  grand  joke.  The  mother  failed 
to  approve.  She  satisfied  her  conscience  with 
the  thought  that  Nellie  was  doing  charitable 
work,  and  she  was  certainly  old  enough  to  take 
no  harm  from  contact  with  the  inferior  class. 
She  regretted  the  necessity,  but  as  Mr.  Miller's 
views  were  unfortunately  more  democratic  than 
her  own,  and  he  was  determined  to  support  Nel- 


MAGGIE'S  VACATION.  333 

lie  in  her  strange  freak,  she  must  yield  the  point 
as  gracefully  as  she  could.  Strife  was  wearying. 
She  would  let  the  matter  drop;  it  would  right 
itself. 

She  had  no  doubt  that  Jack  Ellis  was  very 
friendly  to  Nellie.  It  was  her  unfailing  source 
of  comfort.  His  father  was  possessed  of  great 
wealth.  Her  ambition  had  long  been  to  see  the 
double  fortunes  united  in  these  two  only  chil- 
dren. She  had  grace  and  delicacy  enough  to 
conceal  her  hopes,  even  from  her  husband,  but 
in  her  secret  thought  a  loose  rein  was  given  to 
this  supreme  desire. 

A  week  had  passed.  Maggie  had  nearly  com- 
pleted her  arrangements.  There  was  but  one 
thing  more  to  attend  to. 

"Tell  me;  can  I  help?" 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Dolly.  I  want  to  be  taken  to  the 
old  rag-picker's  home.  I  want  to  leave  her  com- 
fortable. I  have  n't  seen  her  for  a  long  time." 

"  I  will  go  with  you  this  afternoon.  I  sup- 
pose they  still  swarm  in  that  gulch  on  the  out- 
skirts west  ?" 

"  Oh  yes :  can  we  take  up  Barbara  ?  Clare  is 
busy  as  ever." 

"  Certainly,  it  will  do  her  good.    Then — ?" 

"  I  shall  be  ready  to  say  good-by  for  a  little." 

This  plan  was  carried  out.  There  had  been 
a  fresh  fall  of  snow.  The  thin  spots  were  recov- 


334  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

ered,  the  roads  in  fine  condition,  the  sky  clear, 
the  day  brilliant  and  cold,  a  sting  in  the  air ;  the 
horses  carried  them  swiftly.  Barbara  was  called 
for,  and  they  were  in  a  few  moments  at  the  place 
where  some  of  these  busy  fragment-gatherers 
had  crowded  together.  A  narrow  footpath  had 
been  trodden  from  the  roadway,  zigzagging  down 
the  hill  through  dead  brush  covered  fantastically 
with  the  clinging  snow,  to  the  door  of  the  first 
rough  shed,  sudden  and  sharp  turns  taking  it 
from  one  to  another  of  the  huddling  premises. 

Smoke  escaped  from  a  rusty  funnel  protru- 
ding from  the  upper  sash  of  a  rude  window. 
There  were  signs  of  life  about  the  settlement, 
and  Maggie  prepared  to  investigate. 

"Don't  stay  long,  child.  It  looks  like  a  du- 
bious spot." 

"  Have  no  fear.  I  know  her  well ;  she  adores 
me.  You  had  better  move  about  if  I  go  in." 

With  a  spring  she  was  out  of  the  sleigh  over 
the  icy  rail ;  partly  sliding,  partly  running,  she 
reached  the  door.  Some  one  inside  had  heard 
the  sound  of  her  coming  and  opened  far  enough 
to  peer  through.  In  a  second  it  was  flung  wide, 
and  two  scrawny  hands  were  held  out  for  Maggie 
to  grasp.  She  turned  her  glowing  face  back  to 
the  road,  calling  out, 

"All  right;  I'll  stay  a  few  minutes,"  and 
disappeared. 


MAGGIE'S  VACATION.  335 

"  Nurse  Maggie !    Nurse  Maggie !"  was  her 
greeting. 

"  I  've  come  to  see  if  you  are  comfortable  this 
cold  weather.  Do  you  have  all  you  need?" 

"Ver'  comfor'ble.  Have  plenty  eat,  ver' 
warm." 

Maggie  hardly  saw  how  it  was  possible,  but 
concluded  their  ideas  of  comfort  varied. 

"  What  do  you  do  if  you  are  sick  ?  Who  takes 
care  of  you  ?" 

"  Plenty  women ;  ver'  kind." 

"  I  am  going  away.  I  shall  leave  this  card 
and  envelope  with  you.  If  you  need  help  before 
I  get  back,  send  it  to  the  address.  They  will 
care  for  you;  and  to-morrow  I  will  send  you 
some  things  to  use ;  do  n't  sell  them.  And  here 
is  a  little  money;  don't  put  it  away;  use  it. 
When  I  come  back  I  shall  come  and  see  you 
again.  I  shall  never  forget  that  you  were  kind 
to  me  when  I  was  motherless  and  suffering." 

She  gave  her  ten  dollars,  wishing  it  had  been 
ten  times  that.  To  the  woman  it  was  the  prom- 
ise of  luxury  for  the  winter. 

There  was  no  more  time.  The  halloa  of  the 
coachman  sounded,  and  with  blessings  from  the 
virgin  and  all  saints  showered  upon  her,  Maggie 
said  good-by  and  climbed  the  slippery  hill.  On 
the  way  home  she  expressed  her  desire  to  send 
some  comforts  to  the  place. 


336  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

"  What  does  she  need  ?" 

"  I  could  better  tell  what  she  does  not  need ; 
warm  clothing  certainly.  She  had  on  odd  shoes 
fairly  yawning.  Oh  if  I  were  rich !  If  auntie 
were  here !" 

"  Why,  Maggie  child,  I  have  a  mind  to  scold 
you.  We  will  go  at  once  ;  you  shall  select  every- 
thing you  want ;  they  shall  be  sent  her  to-mor- 
row. Barbara  shall  help  us." 

"  Yes  indeed,  I  shall  be  glad.  And,  Maggie, 
I  '11  take  your  charge  for  my  mission  work  while 
you  are  away." 

"  And  write  me  of  her  ?" 

"  As  often  as  you  wish." 

"  Now  I  'm  happy.  She  's  the  only  living 
link  between  this  and  my  babyhood." 

"  You  are  a  brave  girl ;  how  many  would  be 
ashamed  of  it." 

"Ashamed  of  the  kindness  I  stood  in  such 
desperate  need  of  ?  Not  I,  indeed." 

Strong,  beautiful  womanhood!  God  has 
more  in  reserve  for  you  than  you  are  able  to  be- 
stow. 

The  friends  South  awaited  her  coming  with 
impatience.  The  days  dragged  fearfully  in  their 
eagerness  to  share  this  new  knowledge  with  her 
whom  it  more  nearly  concerned.  Every  added 
delay  seemed  interminable.  The  news  they  held 
was  so  weighty.  They  filled  the  hours  with 


MAGGIE'S  VACATION.  337 

welcoming  preparations,  then  with  folded  hands 
looked  into  other  waiting  eyes  and  wondered 
what  she  would  say. 

Mr.  Hamlin  went  to  New  York  with  her, 
placed  her  in  the  care  of  the  steamer's  captain, 
and  waved  her  a  good-by  from  the  pier  as  she 
stood  among  strangers  on  deck. 

Now  began  her  first  experience  of  ocean  life ; 
she  absorbed  every  strange  effect,  every  varying 
phase  of  sound  and  action.  Nothing  escaped 
her  quick,  comprehensive  glance :  the  inces- 
sant tramp  of  countless  porters,  passing  back 
and  forth  over  the  gangway  burdened  with 
freight — where  could  they  stow  such  a  vast 
amount  of  lumbering  boxes,  barrels,  casks,  and 
miscellanea? — the  sharp  calls,  the  creaking  of 
ropes,  the  splash  and  gurgle  of  the  water,  the 
ringing  orders  of  officers,  the  last  piece  of  freight, 
the  noise  subsiding,  the  suspense  of  departure, 
the  swinging  off  at  last  and  slow  start,  gathering 
force  and  momentum  from  every  throb  of  the 
great  heart  of  the  ship. 

As  they  steamed  out  the  harbor  into  the 
boundless  ocean  she  felt  like  a  bird  thrown  out 
of  her  nest,  a  freedom  as  of  wings,  an  exhilara- 
tion that  inspired  her  with  a  desire  to  conquer 
every  obstacle,  to  gain  a  victory  over  every  ill. 

She  wondered  if  young  men  in  their  first 
start  from  home,  in  eager  pursuit  of  fame  and 

Wbmt  Girli  Can  Do.  22 


338  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

fortune,  felt  the  glow  and  determination  that 
came  to  her  in  this  first  breath  of  ocean  air. 

The  confusion  passed  ;  well- wrapped  passen- 
gers walked  briskly  back  and  forth  the  deck ; 
others,  out  of  sight,  were  making  hasty  prepara- 
tions for  any  event  that  might  transpire. 

Maggie  had  no  desire  to  go  below :  her  state- 
room had  received  her  handbag,  extra  wrap,  and 
a  useless  book  Clare  had  chosen  for  the  dull 
hours.  She  was  assured  there  was  to  be  no  dul- 
ness,  no  time  to  bury  herself  in  a  book.  The 
immensity  about  her  was  filled  with  unknown 
wealth  she  longed  to  explore.  Nothing  escaped 
her.  Her  eyes  were  everywhere,  noting  the 
duties  of  each  officer  and  subordinate  within 
compass  of  her  vision. 

She  had  a  healthful  appetite,  and  when  the 
stewardess  sought  her  to  prepare  for  supper,  she 
followed  and  was  placed  beside  the  captain  as 
his  especial  charge. 

Her  bright  face,  responsive  manner,  motions 
of  quick  grace,  won  friends  immediately.  There 
would  be  no  loneliness  for  her. 

After  breakfast  the  next  morning  she  was  on 
deck  again :  ocean  all  about  her,  the  great  blue 
sky  overhead  far  off,  the  world  of  blue  beneath  ; 
the  yellow  sun  pouring  its  molten  gold  over 
everything,  touching  the  cordage,  tinting  the 
awning,  glinting  here  and  there  in  patches  of 


MAGGIE'S   VACATION.  339 

brightness  that  dazzled  and  warmed  her  whole 
being. 

Gulls  followed  in  the  ship's  wake,  dipped  to 
the  crests  of  spray,  and  darted  along  in  eager 
pursuit  of  food.  Not  a  cloud  in  the  heavens. 

Before  night  the  air  grew  milder ;  they  were 
speeding  along  grandly.  There  was  no  weari- 
ness, no  monotony;  every  moment  new  forms 
and  wonderful,  changing  colors,  a  different 
breath  and  odor  in  the  air,  a  new  tint  in  the 
depth  and  curve  of  a  wave,  a  new  shape  of 
white  foam  upon  its  crest — all  surprising,  all  de- 
lightful. Hour  by  hour  she  walked,  catching  in 
her  swaying  gait  the  rhythmic  motion  of  the 
ship,  taking  in  great  draughts  of  pure  ocean  air 
that  seemed  to  impart  increased  vitality  to  her 
already  abundant  supply.  A  night  spent  in 
Savannah,  another  in  Jacksonville,  and  then  the 
early  start  for  the  distant  point  where  Ned  was 
to  meet  her.  There  was  not  a  trace  of  weari- 
ness to  be  seen  ;  fresh,  bright,  ardent  as  ever,  to 
Ned  she  was  a  vision  of  perfect  life  and  abun- 
dant health. 

Ah  how  much  they  had  to  tell !  How  they 
talked !  There  was  so  much  in  common  between 
them,  their  work  so  much  alike ;  both  enthusi- 
asts, both  reaching  for  the  best  results,  both 
hopeful  and  looking  for  success. 

The  all-engrossing  subject  of  the  last  few 


34°  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

weeks  in  the  Southern  homes  had  been  forbid- 
den. Ned  was  to  leave  that  field  for  Aunt  Clar- 
issa and  Mrs.  Kent  to  open  up. 

The  entire  strangeness  of  the  country  inter- 
ested Maggie  ;  part  of  it  had  an  unfinished  look 
to  her.  The  groves  of  ripening  fruit  among  a 
wealth  of  dark  glossy  foliage  were  most  lovely ; 
but  the  waste  space,  the  vast  areas  of  unoccupied, 
untilled  land,  the  tracts  of  tawny  sand,  the  go- 
pher hills,  the  clumps  of  yellow,  coarse  grass 
growing  sparsely  here  and  there,  all  gave  her  an 
unsatisfied  feeling,  as  though  the  country  needed 
workmen  and  care-takers. 

Even  the  pine  forests  looked  thin  and  scant 
of  foliage,  the  long  swaying  Spanish  moss  giv- 
ing a  mournful  aspect  to  the  country.  She  missed 
the  rich  verdure  of  the  grass-covered  fields  and 
velvety  hills  of  her  Northern  home,  the  density 
of  the  woods  that  she  was  accustomed  to.  Her 
nature  was  too  abundant  not  to  regret  this  appa- 
rent dearth  ;  and  plodding  through  the  desolate, 
silent  country,  where  even  the  cart-track  could 
be  discerned  but  by  one  familiar  with  the  way, 
she  said  regretfully, 

"  The  air  is  so  pure,  so  exhilarating,  and  the 
sky  so  wonderfully  clear;  if  there  were  more 
cultivation,  less  barrenness,  it  would  be  exquisite. 
Where  are  your  people,  your  workers  ?" 

"  We  shall  be  in  the  midst  soon  now.     It 's 


MAGGIE'S  VACATION.  341 

more  unsettled  here  than  in  other  parts  of  the 
country.  The  direct  route  from  the  station  to 
our  corner  happens  to  lie  through  the  most  deso- 
late portion.  It  makes  one  feel  out  of  the  world. 
This  turn  brings  us  into  a  more  populous  part. 
What's  the  matter  with  this?"  he  asked  mer- 
rily. 

"  How  rural !  How  pretty !"  she  exclaimed, 
as  coming  suddenly  upon  a  tiny  cot  on  the  out- 
skirts of  an  extensive  pine  forest,  set  down  upon 
the  west  of  a  fine  young  grove  in  its  first  bear- 
ing. The  house  was  low  and  long,  with  vines 
and  creepers  running  to  the  eaves,  covering  it 
almost  entirely,  shutting  in  the  veranda  like  a 
room  and  throwing  out  long  tendrils  that  caught 
upon  the  shrubs  and  trees  near,  making  natural 
arbors  for  the  children's  playhouse. 

A  broad  hallway  cut  through  the  midst  from 
front  to  back  opened  upon  a  sandy  walk,  lined 
with  shrubs  of  many  kinds  and  leading  to  the 
lake  some  rods  away,  where  lofty  magnolias 
showed  to  Maggie's  delighted  eyes  their  great 
white  blossoms. 

On  one  side  the  cabin  hibiscus  and  oleanders 
spread  a  wealth  of  bloom,  jasmine  filled  the  air 
with  fragrance,  and  roses  bloomed  abundantly. 
Beyond  the  house  the  garden,  closely  picketed, 
was  filled  with  a  growth  of  vegetation  almost 
rank  in  its  exuberance ;  great  fiery  tomatoes, 


342  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

egg-plant  in  its  dingy  purple  or  glowing  black, 
melons  that  made  one  warm  and  thirsty  to  look 
upon,  and  strawberries  ripening  large  and  lus- 
cious on  the  hot  sand. 

"  Look  at  those  berries ;  they  must  be  enor- 
mous." 

"Wait  a  moment,"  answered  Ned;  with  a 
bound  he  was  off  the  cart,  over  the  fence,  and 
up  to  the  house.  Two  fair-haired  little  girls 
had  appeared  upon  the  porch.  He  went  in  as  if 
on  friendly  terms,  and  soon  emerged  with  a 
young  woman,  who  held  a  paper  bag  hastily 
doubled  and  twisted  together. 

"  I  will  pick  the  berries,  Mr.  Brainard.  You 
get  a  bunch  of  roses  for  your  friend." 

She  filled  the  bag  with  large  red,  ripe  fruit, 
and  with  quick  and  willing  feet  flew  back  to  the 
house,  giving  it  to  the  largest  child. 

"  Here,  dear,  take  it  to  the  lady." 

As  Ned  approached  from  the  front  she  again 
appeared,  with  pitcher  and  glass,  saying  to  Mag- 
gie, 

"  I  thought  you  must  be  thirsty.  Will  you 
have  some  lime-water  ?" 

"  Are  all  the  people  here  so  kind  ?" 

"  We  are  glad  enough  to  see  any  one,  I  as- 
sure you." 

A  few  more  pleasant  words  and  the  travellers 
went  on,  leaving  as  happy  thoughts  as  they  took 


MAGGIE'S  VACATION.  343 

with  them.  Another  stretch  of  wilderness,  and 
then — 

"  This  is  the  doctor's  place.     Do  you  like  it  ?" 

"  Grand !  But  it  looks  lonesome  among  those 
moss-draped  trees.  Ah  what  a  dear  old  lady 
there  on  the  porch,  all  gray  but  her  white  hair. 
They  see  us ;  they  are  waving.  How  friendly !" 

Ned  swung  his  hat ;  Maggie  bowed  and 
smiled ;  it  was  a  cheery  welcome. 

"  They  seem  glad  as  our  own  people.  How 
far  is  it  now  ?  I  long  to  be  there." 

"  Are  you  tired  ?  Only  through  the  farm ;  it 
cuts  off  quite  a  piece ;  and  here  are  my  boys 
ready  to  open  gates." 

"  Eb'nin',  Massa  Ned." 

"What  elegant  teeth;  the  little  monkeys. 
How  they  grin."  Maggie  was  brimfull  of  laugh- 
ter.  "  One  usually  upsets  my  gravity ;  a  dozen 
is  more  than  a  match  for  my  very  best  inten- 
tions. Will  it  trouble  them?  Are  they  sensi- 
tive." 

"  Not  a  bit ;  nothing  they  like  better  than 
fun." 

There  had  been  a  steady  improvement.  The 
place  had  grown  under  Mr.  Brainard's  care. 
The  great  plantation  looked  to  Maggie  like  a 
primitive  township.  Every  cabin  in  the  negro 
quarters  held  its  small  surroundings,  in  beauti- 
ful order.  The  women,  who  had  received 


344  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

through  Dot  and  Harry  a  lofty  idea  of  Maggie's 
powers,  appeared  in  newly  starched  prints,  white 
aprons,  and  brilliant  head  coverings  to  welcome 
her,  for  did  they  not  have  a  share  in  the  home- 
coming of  every  member  of  the  family  ? 

A  ronnd-eyed,  open-mouthed  girl,  black  as 
ebony,  brought  great  bunches  of  red  blossoms 
saying  shyly  as  she  held  them  towards  her, 

"  Fo'  de  lady." 

A  boy  tore  out  from  a  near  grove  with  a 
brace  of  dogs  capering  about  him,  a  small  bas* 
ket  of  luscious  oranges  in  his  hand,  and  as  he 
came  panting  up  to  the  cart  he  grasped  his  brim- 
less  hat  and  called, 

"  Massa  Ned !  Massa  Ned !  dese  fo'  yo* 
lady." 

Maggie  could  contain  herself  no  longer ;  she 
was  overwhelmed  with  the  comical  side  of  this 
Southern  picture ;  a  gurgle  of  irrepressible 
laughter  was  all  the  thanks  she  could  bestow. 

With  a  sly  glance  at  her  face  he  shoved  the 
basket  into  the  wagon  and  trundled  off  to  open 
and  close  the  gates  as  they  passed  through. 

It  was  but  a  few  rods  through  the  hummock 
road  to  the  lakeside  home ;  but  the  shade,  the 
dense  undergrowth,  the  overhanging  branches 
matted  with  rank  vines,  made  the  way  for  a 
short  distance  almost  black.  On  each  side  of  the 
narrow  path  was  black,  impenetrable  jungle; 


MAGGIE'S  VACATION.  345 

the  dampness  and  gloom  depressed  Maggie  at 
once ;  her  sensitive  organism  was  already  be- 
ginning to  feel  the  strain  of  the  day's  journey. 

Ned  noticed  it. 

"  This  is  the  most  unpleasant  spot  to  a  new- 
comer. We  get  used  to  it,  I  suppose  ;  but  we  're 
going  to  take  hold  of  it  this  spring,  put  the  whole 
force  on,  and  open  a  better  road.  In  time  we 
hope  to  clear  it  all  away." 

"  Is  it  safe  ?  I  should  think  I  was  in  the  jun- 
gles of  India." 

"  Oh  yes,  we  're  too  thickly  populated  for  wild 
animals,  though  I  often  think  it  would  be  a 
splendid  covert  for  them  to  crouch  in." 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,  Ned ;  it 's  uncanny." 

"  That 's  not  like  you.    You  are  tired." 

"  Ah !"  she  sighed,  "  there 's  the  sky  again, 
and  a  lake !  How  lovely !  And — and  there 's 
the  house — and — auntie !  auntie !" 

She  was  there  on  the  porch,  in  their  arms. 
Greetings,  laughter,  and  happy  tears  mingled ; 
Maggie  was  glad  to  be  folded  in  Aunt  Clarissa's 
warm  embrace  once  more. 

There  was  to  be  no  excitement  that  night. 
The  traveller  was  to  have  the  hours  for  rest. 
Miss  Brainard  vetoed  all  confidences ;  bright 
scraps  of  news  were  indulged  in ;  a  refreshing 
meal,  a  short,  merry  gathering  on  the  veranda 


346  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

until  the  early  darkness  shut  down  upon  them, 
and  weightier  matters  were  deferred  until  the 
morning. 

The  doctor's  mother  could  scarcely  control 
her  impatience  to  meet  the  young  girl  who,  she 
was  convinced,  was  her  sister's  child.  Little 
sleep  visited  her  that  night ;  morning  found  her 
pale,  restless,  and  weary. 

"  Mother,  this  wont  do.  You  '11  be  sick  be- 
fore you  have  seen  her.  Suppose  Molly  and  I 
make  an  early  call  and  invite  Miss  Brainard  and 
the  young  lady  to  return  with  us ;  then  let  things 
take  their  course." 

"  Yes,  do  so.  Bring  her  to  my  room.  I  want 
to  confront  her  with  the  portrait  and  see  for  my- 
self." 

"I  see.  Keep  up  bravely,  little  mother;  I 
believe  in  her.  She  '11  be  the  comfort  of  your 
age  yet." 

"  You  are  that,  my  son.  No  one  can  take 
your  place  in  my  heart."  She  rested  her  hand 
on  his  arm  and  looked  into  his  face  with  a  depth 
of  love  that  appealed  to  him  strongly. 

He  stooped  and  kissed  the  delicate  face, 
seated  her  in  the  easy-chair  by  the  window,  and 
went  in  search  of  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Kent  watched  them  as  they  went  to  the 
landing,  unmoored  the  boat,  and  struck  off  into 
the  lake ;  they  were  soon  lost  round  the  bend. 
A  sense  of  relief  came  to  her,  her  tired  head 


MAGGIE  S   VACATION.  347 

rested  against  the  chair;  when  the  maid  came 
with  the  lunch  her  son  had  ordered  she  was 
sleeping. 

It  was  a  face  of  unusual  sweetness  and  purity 
of  expression.  Grace  and  patience  had  done 
perfect  work  during  the  years  of  a  long  life. 
There  was  not  a  trace  of  the  bright,  defiant, 
daring  spirit  shown  in  the  beautiful  portrait 
above  her  mantel  and  repeated  in  the  features 
of  the  young  girl  she  was  awaiting. 

Dr.  Kent  and  his  wife  were  impressed  with 
the  striking  resemblance  between  the  two  faces. 
He  found  himself  studying  Maggie's  appear- 
ance. He  remembered  his  aunt  clearly  enough 
to  feel  that  this  stranger  was  startlingly  like  her. 
There  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  relationship  be- 
tween them.  She  was  his  cousin.  He  must  not 
prolong  his  mother's  impatience.  A  glance  at 
his  wife  reminded  her.  Miss  Clarissa  accepted 
the  invitation  for  both.  Maggie  would  have 
delayed.  She  had  not  been  with  these  nearer 
friends  long  enough  to  be  willing  to  leave  them 
so  soon ;  but  she  made  herself  ready. 

The  morning  was  perfect,  thin,  misty  clouds 
allowing  the  sun  to  sift  through  in  softened 
light.  The  boat  ride  was  charming.  The  doc- 
tor's strength  propelled  them  quickly.  The  calls 
of  Dot  and  Harry  followed  them  : 


348  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

"  We  shall  come  for  you  soon  as  lunch  is 
over." 

Maggie  nodded.  It  was  not  in  Aunt  Claris- 
sa's style  to  rush  round  in  this  way,  but  it  might 
be  Southern  hospitality.  They  were  going  out 
of  sight;  a  moment  more  the  curve  had  been 
rounded  and  through  the  trees  Maggie  saw  the 
same  gentle  face,  with  its  crown  of  silvery  hair, 
that  she  had  noticed  the  previous  day  upon  the 
porch. 

A  colored  boy  secured  the  boat.  The  party 
walked  towards  the  house  together.  The  shade- 
hats  were  left  upon  the  hall  rack.  Mrs.  Kent  led 
the  way  up  the  broad,  easy  staircase. 

"  We  must  go  to  mother's  room.  She  is  wish- 
ing to  see  you,  Miss  Maggie." 

As  they  entered  she  rose,  came  forward 
eagerly,  without  a  word  or  glance  for  any  but 
the  stranger,  took  both  her  hands,  saying, 

"  My  child !     Margaret's  child !" 

The  greeting  was  very  strange.  Maggie  had 
become  accustomed  to  the  peculiarities  of  the 
sick  and  aged.  She  smiled  a  quick  response, 
murmured  a  low  reply,  and  glanced  from  the 
gentle  face  of  one  whom  she  suspected  of  falling 
into  the  childish  ways  of  age  towards  the 
others ;  they  were  all  regarding  her.  Was  any- 
thing the  matter  ?  Aunt  Clarissa  had  a  peculiar 
expression  about  her  eyes. 

As  Maggie  turned  to  take  the  seat  the  doctor 


MAGGIE'S  VACATION.  349 

proffered  near  his  mother's  chair,  her  gaze  fell 
upon  the  portrait  over  the  fireplace.  The  open 
window  threw  a  broad  light  upon  the  picture. 
She  started,  her  eyes  dilated ;  she  drew  her 
hand  from  the  clinging  clasp  of  the  old  lady 
and  with  a  single  rapid  motion  stood  before  it, 
devouring  it  with  startled  gaze. 

Silently  they  watched  her.  Her  cheek 
flushed  and  paled,  her  lips  trembled,  her  hands 
clung  tight  together;  she  turned  upon  Aunt 
Clarissa  such  a  pained,  expectant,  pleading  look, 
and  asked, 

"  Who  is  it,  auntie  ?    Is  it — my  mother  ?" 

"She  recognizes  it,"  whispered  the  doctor's 
wife. 

"  Oh,  auntie,  tell  me !"  The  rich  color  had 
left  her  face ;  she  had  a  frightened,  doubtful  ap- 
pearance ;  even  the  doctor  turned  away  to  hide 
the  emotion  he  was  not  willing  to  expose. 

Mrs.  Kent  was  more  self-possessed  now  than 
the  others.  She  folded  her  arms  about  Maggie, 
replying, 

"  It  is  your  mother,  child.  We  are  sure. 
There  can  be  no  doubt.  You  are  mine  now,  my 
sister's  child." 

"Your  niece.  But  why — but  why?"  She 
could  not  ask  why  they  had  left  her  all  these 
years  to  the  care  of  strangers.  A  flood  of  mem- 
ories overwhelmed  her,  tears  rolled  down  her 


350  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

face.     She  turned  again  to  Miss  Brainard  as  to 
an  only,  faithful  friend, 

"  Did  you  know,  auntie  ?" 

"  No  one  could  know  until  now,  child.  You 
shall  have  the  whole  story.  I  must  share  your 
love  with  this  new-found  relative." 

They  drew  together.  Again  all  the  facts 
were  rehearsed.  Uncertainty,  perplexity,  and 
doubts  disappeared.  Maggie  accepted  the  posi- 
tion given  her  in  the  family  gratefully,  with  a 
serious,  uncertain  joy,  mixed  with  fear  that  it 
might  be  as  quickly  snatched  as  it  had  been 
bestowed  upon  her. 

The  gentle  old  lady  could  not  withdraw  her 
gaze  from  the  young  girl's  face.  She  held  her 
hand,  brushed  the  hair  back  from  the  broad,  low 
brow,  smiling  gravely  as  with  an  inward  sweet- 
ness of  spirit,  a  restfulness  that  had  come  unex- 
pectedly. Questions  and  replies  followed  till  ex- 
planations drew  to  a  close.  Maggie  went  again 
and  stood  before  the  picture  straight  as  one  of 
their  pines,  tall,  supple,  with  an  easy  elegance  of 
motion  that  Mrs.  Kent  recalled  at  once. 

"  Do  you  remember  ?"  she  asked  her  son. 

He  nodded.  He  could  never  forget  the 
bright,  vivacious  woman  with  whom  he  had 
frolicked  and  who  responded  to  his  boyish  call 
for  "  Aunt  Mag."  Everything  about  the  new- 
comer proved  her  origin.  He  saw  the  satisfac- 


MAGGIE'S  VACATION.  351 

tion  overspreading  his  mother's  face  as  she 
watched  every  movement  of  the  girl  and  di- 
vined ever}'  emotion  of  her  expressive  features. 
The  hour  of  parting  came  all  too  soon. 

"  I  'm  not  willing  to  let  you  go,  my  child." 
Her  voice  lingered  tenderly  about  the  last 
words. 

"  I  shall  come  back.  It  seems  so  strange — 
and — beautiful  to  have  a  relative — a  real  aunt.  I 
shall  love  you— so  much  ;  but  this  one  none 
the  less.  She  has  done  everything  for  me." 

A  rich  flush  overspread  Miss  Brainard's  face 
as  Maggie  turned  towards  her. 

"  She  has  indeed.  We  can  never  repay  her. 
She  is  willing  to  share  your  affection,  dear.  And 
we  have  been  so  long  bereft,  I  fear  we  shall  be 
selfish." 

"  I  'm  not  worth  half  so  much,  but  it 's  all 
very  precious  to  me." 

At  that  moment  Dot's  rosy  face  appeared. 

"  Have  you  had  enough  of  Maggie,  mother 
Kent?  We  want  her  now." 

There  was  no  alternative.  The  doctor  deci- 
ded in  favor  of  the  young  people. 

There  was  a  promise  of  daily  meetings, 
bright  good-bys,  and  they  recrossed  the  lake. 

Maggie's  face  was  radiant ;  she  was  no  longer 
nameless. 


352  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

"FATHER  DEAREST!" 

BARBARA'S  life  was  more  lonely  after  Maggie 
left  her ;  and  her  friends  vied  with  each  other  to 
make  good  the  absence.  Nellie  could  not  do 
enough  for  her  comfort.  It  was  as  though  fet- 
ters had  been  removed  from  her  and  an  unac- 
customed freedom  bestowed  ;  as  though  having 
been  blind,  she  saw  with  a  clearer  vision,  and 
found  in  pure  unselfishness  a  new  experience. 
Clare  was  astonished  at  the  sudden  change ;  her 
face  expressed  the  satisfaction  of  a  pure  un- 
worldly spirit.  Etta  had  no  hesitation  in  saying, 

"  Well,  Nell,  it  takes  flood  or  fire  to  win  you ; 
to  all  appearance  it 's  worth  the  risk.  Why  you 
never  saw  before  as  far  as  the  rest  of  us,  I  can't 
understand." 

"Only  wickedness,  Etta.  None  but  you 
would  have  the  face  to  make  me  confess  it. 
Do  n't  speak  of  it  again.  Bab  and  I  are  sisters 
now,  aren't  we,  midget?" 

A  sound  of  laughter  was  the  only  reply 
needed. 

"  Do  the  hands  feel  all  right  ?"  asked  Etta. 

"  Yes,  nearly.     I  can  use  them  with  care." 


"FATHER  DEAREST!"  353 

"Poor  hands!"  Nellie  flushed  as  she  took 
them.  "  When  will  the  marks  ever  go  ?  I  wish 
it  had  been  my  own,  Barbara.  Your  pretty 
hands !" 

"No  indeed,  Nellie.  If  they  had  not  been 
burned,  you  might  have  never  given  me  your 
love ;  it 's  worth  more  than  my  hands  to  me." 

A  look  of  real  affection  passed  between  them. 

"  I  dread  to  have  you  go,  girls.  I  wish  one 
of  you  could  stay.  I  do  miss  Maggie.  I  did  n't 
think  it  would  make  such  a  difference,  but  per- 
haps I  shall  soon  begin  to  paint." 

"  Then  you  wont  want  us  bothering  you. 
Hale!  Where's  that  boy?  Hale,  where  are 
you  ?" 

"  Here,  Etta,  under  the  steps." 

"  Come  out.  You  have  left  the  door  open, 
mischief.  What  are  you  doing  ?" 

"  I  'm  making  snowballs  to  fire  at  that  old 
woman  when  she  gets  here ;  this  is  my  fort.  I  '11 
let  her  have  one  now." 

"Hale!  Hale!"  called  Barbara.  "Come  to 
me  quickly.  What  a  vindictive  little  fellow  you 
are.  You  must  be  kind  to  her.  She  is  not  bad  ; 
she  found  you.  Maggie  cares  for  her  and  would 
be  angry  if  you  should  snowball  her." 

"  Well,  I  wont  then." 

Barbara  went  back  from  the  door  with  a 
merry  look  in  her  eyes  and  resumed  prepara- 

Wh»t  Olrli  C»n  Do.  23 


354  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

tions  for  her  father.  At  last  everything  was 
ready,  the  table  invitingly  spread,  his  chair  in 
place,  the  dinner  hot  and  waiting  for  his  coming. 
The  hands  of  the  clock  pointed  to  the  hour. 
Why  did  he  not  come  ?  Another  five  minutes — 
ten — the  dinner  would  not  be  so  palatable.  A 
half-hour  passed ;  perhaps  he  was  not  coming 
until  night.  Something  unusual  had  prevented. 
The  gray  eyes  took  on  a  slightly  troubled  look ; 
she  went  to  the  window.  Ah !  a  step  on  the 
walk.  She  hastened  to  open  the  door. 

It  was  a  stranger. 

"  Your  father  has  fallen,  and  is  somewhat 
hurt.  Do  n't  fear."  Her  very  lips  were  white  ; 
he  thought  she  would  fall. 

"  They  are  bringing  him  here."  Still  no  re- 
ply ;  she  was  holding  to  the  door ;  it  had  begun 
to  sway  back  and  forth  with  her  weight.  The 
stranger  stepped  in,  caught  her,  aided  her  into 
the  front  room,  and  placed  her  upon  the  lounge ; 
then  looking  about  for  a  glass  of  water  he 
brought  it  to  her,  saying, 

"  You  must  n't  break  down  !  Be  brave  ! 
He  will  be  here  soon.  They  are  on  the  way. 
The  bed  must  be  ready.  Where  is  it?  Can 
I  help  you  ?  You  are  faint ;  eat  a  bit ;  there 's 
time." 

She  shook  her  head  Eat !  and  he,  the  only 
one  in  life  for  whom  it  was  worth  her  while 


"FATHER  DEAREST!"  355 

to  live,  hurt,  perhaps  dying.  Surely  a  merciful 
God  would  not  take  all  from  her,  would  not 
leave  her  quite  alone  in  this  world,  such  a  wil- 
derness without  him.  And  he  was  so  large  and 
strong,  so  full  of  love  and  kindness ! 

"  Tell  me,"  she  articulated  faintly. 

"  He  stumbled  as  he  turned  to  the  edge  of 
the  scaffolding,  reached  for  the  support,  failed  to 
catch  it,  and  was  over.  There  was  nothing  to 
break  the  fall." 

"  Dear  God !"  A  shudder  went  over  her,  she 
trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf.  She  wrung  her 
hands  together,  moaned,  and  tried  to  rise. 

"You  must  brace  up,  miss.  Show  me  his 
room.  I  can  help  you."  He  saw  he  must  act 
for  her. 

"  Yes  ;  are  they  coming  ?" 

She  staggered  towards  the  bedroom  and 
opened  the  door.  A  rush  of  cool  air  came  from 
it.  It  seemed  to  revive  Ijer.  At  once  the  reali- 
zation of  what  depended  upon  her  flashed  across 
her  mind.  She  could  take  care  of  him,  work 
day  and  night  for  him,  bear  any  weariness  or 
privation,  if  God  would  give  her  the  dear  life. 

They  were  coming.  She  heard  the  careful 
tramp  of  feet  and  saw  the  dear,  still  form  borne 
upon  the  stretcher  and  laid  on  the  bed.  Almost 
immediately  a  physician's  carriage  stopped  and 
help  was  at  hand. 


WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

The  doctor  ordered  the  room  to  be  cleared. 
All  went  but  the  stranger,  who  proved  to  be 
foreman  of  the  builders.  He  remained  to  assist. 

"  You  had  better  leave  us,"  he  said  to  Bar- 
bara. 

She  pressed  her  hands  tightly  and  shook  her 
head.  It  seemed  as  if  the  power  of  speech  had 
left  her.  He  whispered  to  the  doctor  that  she 
was  the  daughter.  A  glance  followed  quickly 
from  the  physician  and  at  once  he  said, 

"  He  may  be  only  stunned.  You  go  and  pre- 
pare bandages  in  the  other  room.  I  will  speak 
when  I  am  ready  for  you." 

It  was  a  command — merciful,  for  it  gave  her 
something  to  do.  Only  stunned !  Not  dead ! 
Would  he  come  out  of  this  unconscious  state 
and  speak  to  her  again  ?  Plenty  of  linen,  ban- 
dages, lint,  everything  that  might  be  needed. 
Only  stunned !  What  blessed  words ! 

But  the  doctor  knew,  of  course.  He  was 
only  stunned.  She  had  torn  up  yards  of  old 
soft  linen ;  everything  was  done ;  why  was  she 
not  called  ?  She  must  know.  The  doctor  ought 
not  to  keep  her  from  him.  She  could  not  bear 
it ;  she  must  go  in.  Her  hand  was  on  the  latch. 
The  door  opened  and  the  doctor  took  her  hands 
in  his.  He  could  hardly  bear  the  pleading,  ago- 
nized look  of  the  pallid  face. 

"  Have  you  no  one  with  you  ?" 


"FATHER  DEAREST!"  357 

"  Is  he  better  ?  Do  tell  me.  I  can  bear  it  if 
I  know." 

"  Poor  child,  you  must  know ;  but  you  can't 
be  here  alone." 

"  He  wont  die.  You  said  he  was  only  stun- 
ned." She  had  to  pull  her  hands  from  his  clasp. 
"  Let  me  go  to  him.  I  know  I  can  wake  him. 
Oh  be  kind !" 

"I  will,  my  child.  It  is  a  critical  case.  I 
must  consult  others.  You  must  have  a  nurse  at 
once  and  help.  Where  are  your  friends?  If 
you  want  to  help  me  you  must  be  brave." 

"Yes,  I  do,  I  will.  I  can  do  a  great  deal. 
Now  let  me  go  to  him.  I  will  waken  him." 

She  went  on  tiptoe  into  the  room.  They 
had  cut  off  his  clothing,  and  he  lay  there  white 
as  the  garment  that  covered  him,  not  a  mark 
in  sight  to  show  where  death  had  struck  and 
tried  to  enter. 

Tears  were  in  the  foreman's  eyes  as  he 
watched  the  slight  form  and  heard  her  low, 
strained  tone,  "  Father  !  father  dearest !  Can't 
you  wake,  father?  It's  Barbara,  your  little 
Bab." 

She  paused,  looking  upon  him  as  though  her 
gaze  would  effect  what  the  voice  failed  to  do; 
then  turning  to  the  two  who  watched  her,  she 
said,  "He  doesn't  hear!"  It  was  the  terrified 
cry  of  a  child. 


358  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"You  must  tell  us  who  will  come  to  you. 
Nothing  more  can  be  done  now.  Whom  shall 
this  man  go  for?" 

Clare.  Yes,  Clare  was  her  first  thought.  Mrs. 
Hamlin  would  know  what  she  had  better  do. 

He  took  the  address  and  went  at  once.  The 
doctor  told  her  he  would  send  a  nurse  imme- 
diately and  return  soon  with  help  to  examine 
more  thoroughly  into  the  case.  "  And  remem- 
ber,"  he  added,  "while  there  is  life  there's 
hope.  You  must  keep  up  your  courage.  You 
must  eat  or  take  a  cup  of  tea  or  coffee.  Will  you 
do  it  at  once  ?" 

"  I  '11  do  anything  you  say.  Now  go  and  get 
more  doctors.  You  will  save  him.  I  'm  not 
afraid  now." 

He  insisted  upon  her  eating  before  he  left. 
He  had  noticed  the  table,  saw  she  had  not  dined, 
and  knew  she  would  not  eat  if  left  alone. 

Her  father  had  received  terrible  injuries, 
how  serious  could  not  be  determined  at  once. 
He  was  not  conscious.  There  was  no  apparent 
suffering.  He  lay  motionless  as  one  dead.  It 
seemed  hours  that  she  crouched  on  the  floor  by 
his  bed  watching  his  face  ;  in  reality  it  was  less 
than  three-quarters  of  an  hour  when  Mrs.  Ham- 
lin drove  up  with  Becky. 

They  found  her  there,  with  such  a  helpless 
anguish  in  her  eyes  that  sudden  tears  filled  their 


"FATHER  DEAREST!"  359 

own.  Mrs.  Hamlin  raised  her,  pressed  her  in 
her  arms,  took  her  to  the  other  room,  and  let 
her  sob  and  cry  unchecked. 

Then  she  told  her  Becky  had  come  to  stay, 
to  care  for  her  and  the  house.  A  nurse  would 
come  for  her  father.  All  she  had  to  do  was  to 
hope  and  pray.  God  was  her  Father.  All  would 
be  well. 

"Are  you  sure  ?"  in  her  pathetic,  clinging  way. 

"  Quite  sure.  It  must  be  best.  It  is  his  will. 
I  shall  stay  until  the  doctors  and  nurse  come. 
Becky  will  not  leave  you.  I  shall  go  in  the  other 
room ;  you  stay  and  show  Becky  where  to  place 
things.  We  are  all  going  to  do  the  best  we  can. 
You  shall  not  be  alone." 

What  help  there  is  in  friendship!  What 
courage  and  hope  it  can  impart ! 

Through  Clare  Mr.  Miller  heard  the  news. 
It  was  his  time.  He  had  not  thought  it  would 
be  so  calamitous.  But  he  could  come  forward 
now.  Nothing  should  be  lacking.  He  went  at 
once  to  the  house.  He  had  a  bright  nature  and 
a  warm  heart.  He  insisted  upon  placing  a  large 
sum  of  money  at  her  disposal. 

"  My  dear,  there 's  not  a  word  to  say.  You 
call  Nellie  your  sister.  Look  upon  me  as  a 
father  until  your  own  is  restored.  God  help  you 
and  him !" 

There  was  a  numb  feeling  at  her  heart.    She 


360  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

had  no  tears.  Her  eyes  looked  to  him  like  great 
fountains  of  grief  and  terror. 

"  I  shall  come  this  evening.  Be  strong,  Bar- 
bara. He  needs  you  now.  You  must  not  fail 
him." 

"  I  shall  not." 

He  understood  that  the  shock  had  almost  de- 
prived her  of  the  power  of  resistance.  A  great 
pity  filled  him.  He  shuddered  as  he  recalled 
that  but  for  her  his  Nellie  might  not  now  be  his. 
He  realized  the  horror  of  her  fear.  Through  it 
all  ran  a  thread  of  brightness  that  he  could  now 
pay  the  debt,  in  part  at  least. 

She  stood  as  he  left  her,  the  money  in  her 
hand.  As  Mrs.  Hamlin  came  towards  her  she 
offered  it. 

"  Take  it,  please." 

"  Poor  child,  you  want  no  trouble  added  to 
this  that  is  crushing  you.  Becky,  put  this  money 
away.  Use  it  as  you  need ;  spare  nothing.  Do 
everything  as  though  it  were  your  own." 

"  Dear  lamb,  I  will." 

Later  the  doctors  came.  They  were  shut  in 
the  sick-room  a  long  time.  The  consultation 
passed  ;  there  was  no  hope.  The  injuries  must 
prove  fatal.  It  was  a  question  if  he  would  re- 
cover consciousness.  There  was  little  to  be 
done  but  to  wait.  Mrs.  Hamlin  remained  untij 
late,  then  left  all  in  Becky's  care. 


"FATHER  DEAREST!"  361 

A  good  nurse  from  the  hospital  was  to  Bar- 
bara a  strong  staff  upon  which  she  might  lean 
all  her  weight.  The  strain  of  the  night  was  ex- 
hausting. Sleep  was  impossible.  How  often 
she  crept  to  his  bedside,  hoping  for  a  change, 
and  back  to  press  her  face  in  the  lounge  cush- 
ions, to  stifle  the  cry  that  rose  to  her  lips.  Would 
he  ever  waken,  ever  look  again  into  her  face, 
call  her  his  little  Bab  ? 

And  he  was  all  the  relative  she  had.  Life 
held  no  other  for  her.  She  went  back  to  her 
mother's  death — the  long  preparation,  the  daily 
communings,  the  hours  of  loving  talk,  the  pass- 
ing away  so  peacefully  and  gently  that  she  had 
not  felt  it  to  be  death,  had  scarcely  known  at 
first  the  bitterness  of  separation.  But  this! 
There  could  be  no  suffering  to  equal  it. 

Morning  brought  no  change.  His  breathing 
was  hardly  perceptible,  the  pulse  was  feeble  and 
fluctuating.  The  doctor  had  not  a  look  of  hope 
for  her.  She  had  wandered  aimlessly  from  room 
to  room  until  he  came.  She  fixed  her  eyes  on 
his  face.  No  hope !  She  saw  it  in  his  averted 
look,  heard  it  in  the  words,  "  Nothing  to  be 
done." 

Yes,  she  knew  now  that  the  dear  life  was 
ebbing  away.  She  would  have  him  but  a  little 
longer.  She  must  not  fail  him  now.  She  must 
not  leave  him  an  instant.  If  his  eyes  should  un- 


362  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

close  they  must  meet  her  face.  She  must  be 
ready  and  strong.  She  was  grateful  that  he  did 
not  suffer.  Over  and  over  she  pressed  her  lips 
to  his  hand  and  whispered,  "  Father  dearest!" 

Nellie  came  for  a  moment  with  her  father, 
but  only  kissed  the  white,  rigid  lips  and  turned 
away,  her  face  quivering  with  pity.  Miss  Gray 
came  in,  whispered  a  word  of  love,  and  held  her 
a  moment  to  her  heart.  Mrs.  Hamlin  was  there 
for  hours,  but  Barbara  sat  close  by  him,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  dying  face.  There  was  a  slight 
tremor  of  the  eyelids,  but  they  did  not  lift,  a 
quiver  of  the  lips.  She  whispered  again,  "  Fa- 
ther dearest!"  Surely  he  answered,  the  lips 
moved.  "  Little  Bab !"  he  said.  It  was  alL  Life 
went  out  in  the  effort  to  breathe  her  name. 

Now  indeed  she  was  alone;  no  one  now  to 
"  minister  unto,"  no  one  to  love.  She  was  over- 
whelmed; the  billows  were  going  over  her. 
There  was  no  fear  of  harming  him  now  by  her 
pain  or  her  love.  "  Father !"  she  called  and 
clung  to  him,  kissing  the  dear  face  over  and 
over  until  Mrs.  Hamlin  mercifully  drew  her 
away. 

None  could  have  been  more  tender  in  gentle 
administrations  of  sympathy  than  Mrs.  Hamlin. 
Barbara  clung  to  her  as  child  to  mother. 

After  the  few  dreadful  days  that  followed 
she  took  her  by  loving  force  to  her  own  home, 


"FATHER  DEAREST!"  363 

where  Clare's  quiet  thoughtfulness  could  help 
to  soothe  and  heal. 

For  weeks  she  could  not  rally.  The  blow 
had  been  sudden  and  sharp.  She  seemed  to  be 
enveloped  in  clouds  of  darkness,  in  fears  that 
failed  to  scatter,  in  doubt  and  dread  they  could 
not  understand.  He?  gratitude  was  very  touch- 
ing ;  her  effort  to  subdue  her  grief  in  their  pres- 
ence more  trying  to  them  than  her  tears. 

Nellie  and  Etta  came  to  her  almost  daily. 
Mrs.  St.  John's  generous  nature  contributed 
large  store  of  consolation.  Uncle  Eric  and  Mr. 
Hamlin  had  many  a  kind  word  and  thought, 
and  Clare  was  seldom  absent.  A  long  letter, 
weighted  with  sympathy,  came  from  Jack  to 
Clare ;  but  there  was  no  light  or  hope  in  any- 
thing for  the  mourner.  The  thought  of  living 
alone  terrified  her. 

It  was  finally  the  old  Scotch  woman  who 
guided  her  wavering  steps  and  spoke  helpful 
words  of  trust  and  led  her  again  into  the  pure 
light  of  God's  love.  Becky  had  never  left  her, 
had  been  with  her  through  all  the  untold  an- 
guish, had  waited  upon  and  watched  and  tended 
until  she  seemed  to  belong  to  this  sad  phase  of 
her  life  as  no  other  did.  And  as  the  woman 
sat  in  the  sewing-room  finishing  garments  Mrs. 
Hamlin  had  thought  best  to  select  for  Barbara, 
she  had  in  silence  prayed  that  the  stroke  might 


364  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

not  be  too  heavy  for  her,  that  God,  who  tempers 
the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,  might  bring  again 
hope  and  courage  to  this  child  of  his  love.  Bar- 
bara  sat  near,  watching  the  sunset  gold  as  it 
streamed  in  and  covered  her  with  its  glory. 

"  It  is  like  God's  love,  lassie,  which  can  make 
the  saddest  days  of  life  glorious  to  our  faith,  just 
as  yon  sun  brightens  and  softens  this  dark  fab- 
ric. He  will  brighten  your  life,  dear  lamb.  He 
is  your  Father.  He  is  with  you  always.  He 
loves  you  greatly,  child." 

With  a  little  cry  she  dropped  her  head  in 
Becky's  lap. 

"  I  know  it ;  oh  I  know  it !  But  oh,  Becky, 
let  me  cry." 

"  Cry  all  you  can,  my  tired  lassie.  The  dear 
Christ  shed  tears  for  griefs  like  this.  Ease  your 
heart,  dearie,  and  think  of  his  love ;  't  is  more 
tender  now  than  you  can  know  here.  He  never 
forbids  tears;  but  he  has  a  work  still  for  his 
child  to  do." 

"  Work !     My  work  is  done,  Becky." 

"  Ah  no,  work  is  never  done.  Is  my  work 
done  because  all  have  passed  on  that  I  worked 
for  when  I  was  a  young  thing  like  you  ?  Have 
I  not  Miss  Clarissa  left,  and  Maggie  and  you, 
poor  lamb  ?" 

"Oh,  Becky,  what  is  there  for  me  now?" 

"  It  will  come  when  you  are  ready.    You  will 


"  FATHER  DEAREST  !"  365 

gain  no  strength  to  work  for  Him  if  you  grieve 
always.  You  must  take  up  your  tasks ;  they 
will  come.  Determine  to  do  the  first  He  puts 
into  your  hands ;  He  will  give  strength.  Did 
you  not  promise  to  do  something  for  Maggie  ?" 

"  Oh  I  did.     I  must ;  I  had  forgotten." 

"  That  is  one  little  task.  There  will  be  oth- 
ers, and  you  will  find  a  purer  joy  in  His  service 
than  ever." 

"  I  will  do  it,  Becky.  But  I  will  stay  with  you 
until  I  go — back." 

Her  head  dropped  again.  She  could  not  re- 
call without  tears  and  weakness  the  few  homely 
rooms,  the  life  there  put  out,  the  great  fountain 
of  love  closed  for  ever.  Such  reverent  love  she 
had  for  him,  so  pure  and  sweet  was  her  affection ! 
His  lightest  pleasure  had  been  the  fulfilment  of 
her  day's  content,  the  humblest  service  for  him 
her  perpetual  delight. 

Could  she  concentrate  this  great  love  of  earth 
into  a  purer,  holier  worship,  and  give  her  life 
humbly,  perhaps  happily,  to  His  service  who  had 
stricken  her  ?  There  was  nothing  else  to  hope 
for,  and  with  this  desire  feebly  burning  in  her 
heart  she  spoke  to  Mrs.  Hamlin  of  returning  to 
her  home  and  work. 

"  You  do  not  think  of  going  back  there  to 
live  alone,  Barbara !  Why  it  would  be  wild.  I 
cannot  listen  to  it." 


366  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

Clare's  hand  crept  into  hers  as  she  empha- 
sized her  mother's  words. 

"  No,  you  are  too  young  to  live  alone.  You 
must  be  content  with  us  for  the  present,  dear." 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  can't  be  a  burden  to 
you  longer.  I  must  begin  work  of  some  kind. 
As  long  as  I  kept  house,  the  little  beside  that 
came  to  me  filled  up  the  time  ;  but  there  's  noth- 
ing now.  What  had  I  better  do,  Mrs.  Hamlin  ?" 

"  Stay  with  us  until  Dot  gets  home,  at  least. 
Then  we  will  take  Aunt  Clarissa  into  council ; 
she  will  help  us  plan.  It  shall  be  something  that 
you  will  like  to  do.  But  now  you  must  grow 
strong  and  be  one  of  my  daily  comforts." 

A  deprecating  smile  quivered  for  a  moment 
over  the  delicate  face;  poor  comfort  she  con- 
sidered herself. 

"  Now  that  you  have  spoken  to  me,  Barbara, 
I  do  advise  you  to  let  Becky  and  a  maid  go  over 
and  pack  the  things  you  value,  for  storage ;  you 
don't  want  to  continue  the  rent." 

"  Is  it  best  ?    Shall  I  never  go  back  ?" 

"I  don't  think  you  will.  The  month  will 
soon  be  up ;  you  had  best  give  up  the  rooms.  Go 
this  afternoon  and  to-morrow.  Shall  it  be  so  ?" 

"  Just  as  you  say.  I  must  see  Maggie's  rag- 
picker, too." 

They  were  glad  to  rouse  her  a  little.  The 
work  proved  beneficial. 


"FATHER  DEAREST!"  367 

The  winter  crept  along  very  quietly  for  the 
two  girls.  Clare  would  not  leave  her  friend  for 
any  gayety  that  offered.  She  was  secretly  glad 
that  her  mother  did  not  press  her  to  accompany 
her  in  fulfilling  her  various  social  engagements. 
Their  evenings  were  spent  together  in  Clare's 
own  room,  or  with  Uncle  Eric,  if  he  had  just  the 
book  to  read  aloud.  Short  walks,  daily  rides, 
helpfulness  here  and  there,  consumed  the  hours 
and  made  the  winter  pass  quickly. 

Mrs.  Ellis  had  sent  for  Barbara,  and  she  had 
passed  more  than  one  pleasant  afternoon  with 
the  invalid.  It  was  quiet  and  restful,  and  she 
could  be  of  service.  Mrs.  St.  John  petted  her, 
bought  her  studies,  encouraged  her  to  make 
more.  She  sometimes  stopped  a  moment  at 
Nellie's ;  but  the  mother  was  too  condescending 
to  give  Barbara  a  feeling  of  freedom.  Yet  she 
censured  herself  more  than  she  did  Mrs.  Miller, 
fearing  that  she  was  morbidly  sensitive.  With- 
out any  attempt  at  sympathy  Mrs.  Miller's  man- 
ner must  jar  upon  so  delicate  an  organization  as 
Barbara's. 

The  hours  that  Clare  devoted  to  study  she 
spent  with  Becky,  assisting  in  the  household 
sewing,  and  as  the  weeks  went  on  many  a  lesson 
of  faith  was  learned  from  this  humble  source. 
With  the  help  of  Becky's  larger  experience  and 
fuller  faith  she  came  slowly  back  into  the  con- 


368  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

scions  presence  of  the  Master  who  had  not  left 
her  alone  in  this  great  trial,  though  her  eyes  had 
been  so  dim  that  she  could  not  see  Him  in  His 
loving  pity  and  divine  tenderness.  She  awoke 
at  last  to  a  more  real  knowledge  of  His  love  and 
to  the  meaning  of  those  words  so  precious  to  a 
wounded  heart :  "  Abide  in  me  and  I  in  you," 
"  If  ye  keep  my  commandments  ye  shall  abide 
in  me,"  "  These  things  have  I  spoken  unto  you, 
that  my  joy  might  remain  in  you  and  that  your 
joy  might  be  full."  She  had  found  in  her  youth 
what  so  many  search  long  for,  that  Christ  can 
change  the  bitterest  grief  into  a  source  of  purest 
joy  if  we  heed  his  words  and  become  fruit-bear- 
ing branches  of  the  true  Vine,  abiding  always  in 
his  love. 


CLARE'S  SUCCESS.  369 

CHAPTER  XX. 

CLARE'S  SUCCESS. 

ALL  this  time  Clare  was  pressing  on  in  work 
that  was  becoming  more  and  more  a  part  of  her 
life.  One  science  after  another  the  brave  young 
student  had  taken  up  under  the  guidance  of  her 
devoted  teacher,  going  step  by  step  into  its  se- 
cret places,  lovingly  and  reverently  garnering 
one  truth  after  another,  until  her  mind  teemed 
with  thoughts  too  many  to  express.  She  longed 
for  intellectual  companionship,  and  in  her  occa- 
sional exits  into  society  she  was  delighted  to  find 
there  were  pleasures  connected  with  it  apart 
from  those  springing  from  accomplishments  she 
was  ignorant  of.  She  found  that  some  who 
helped  to  make  the  gay  crowd  at  the  house  of 
of  this  or  that  friend  were  better  satisfied  with 
the  interchange  of  thought  and  ideas  than  with 
compliments  and  flattery.  A  few  friends  of 
rare  worth  she  had  met  among  these  apparent 
pleasure-seekers,  and  one  after  another  they 
sought  her  remote  corner,  drawn  by  the  subtle 
attractions  of  her  mind,  as  steel  to  the  magnet, 
and  discovering  in  her  presence  a  new  charm 
amid  these  surroundings.  More  than  one  car- 

Wh»t  Girls  C«n  Do.  24 


3/0  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

ried  away  the  vision  of  a  slender  girl  with  a 
face  through  which  a  soul  shone  as  a  light  in  a 
transparency,  in  whose  speech  were  mingled  shy- 
ness and  enthusiasm,  modest  reserve  and  truth- 
ful frankness.  All  this  time  Uncle  Eric,  who 
knew  her  capabilities,  urged  her  on  with  ardent 
encouragement. 

Mrs.  Hamlin's  mother-love  instinctively  pres- 
aged increasing  separation.  There  was  a  vague 
fear,  perhaps,  of  losing  her  child  upon  these 
boundless  fields  so  unknown  to  her.  She  could 
not  object  to  a  certain  amount  of  knowledge; 
she  would  like  Dot  to  be  a  trifle  more  inclined 
in  that  direction ;  but  Clare,  she  thought,  was 
carrying  it  to  a  ridiculous  extent,  making  a  per- 
fect recluse  of  herself.  The  black  veil  of  a 
nunnery  could  not  separate  her  more  effectually 
from  the  world  than  that  little  den  beside  Eric's 
study.  She  might  be  talented ;  people  called  her 
so ;  but  this  shining  for  a  few  mere  book-worms 
was  a  decided  failure.  Any  amount  of  coaxing 
failed  to  win  her  from  her  books.  It  was  dis- 
couraging to  Mrs.  Hamlin.  The  father  looked 
down  upon  his  wife  and  up  to  his  beloved  Clare, 
for  the  good  man  evidently  stood  as  peacemaker 
between  them,  and  said, 

"  Let  her  alone.  She  has  found  her  true  life ; 
we  must  not  interfere." 

But  one  morning  there  came  a  tap  on  Clare's 


CLARE'S  SUCCESS.  371 

door,  and,  "May  I  come  in,  dear?"  caused  her 
to  hustle  away  a  little  package  of  books,  bright 
and  new  with  morocco  and  delicate  lines  of  gilt 

"  Yes,  mamma,  come  right  in,"  she  answered, 
blushing  slightly  as  she  spread  the  folds  of  her 
dress  over  the  package  at  her  feet. 

"  I  wont  disturb  you  but  a  moment,  dear,  but 
I  want  you  to  please  me  in  this." 

"  Well,  mamma,  what  is  it?" 

"  We  have,  you  know,  invitations  for  Thurs- 
day ;  and  I  want  you  to  go,  and  prevail  upon 
your  uncle  to  go  with  us." 

"  Mamma,  it  will  be  a  trial  to  him." 

"  I  can't  help  it.  It  is  my  birthday ;  and 
were  it  not  for  our  little  Barbara  I  should  have 
indulged  in  festivities  here.  But  for  her  sake 
we  will  be  quiet  this  winter.  This  is  to  be  a  de- 
lightful gathering  or  I  would  n't  urge  it.  But 
you  '11  win  your  uncle,  and  make  me  happy  on 
my  birthday  ?" 

"  I  '11  try  to  make  you  happy,  mamma ;  but  I 
can't  promise  for  uncle,  you  know." 

"  Well,  do  the  best  you  can.  I  knew  you  'd 
please  me,  dear.  I  've  ordered  a  lovely  dress  for 
you,  and  you  will  have  your  hair  arranged  in 
style,  I  know." 

"Oh,  mamma,  it  wont  be  like  me  at  all. 
You  know  I  never  could  educate  my  fingers  and 
feet ;  and  my  hair  is  quite  as  stubborn.  It  wont 


372  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

stay  in  place.  It  will  annoy  me,  and  I  shall  be 
thinking  of  it ;  let  the  hair  go,  mamma." 

"  I  wish  you  would  think  more  of  it ;  it 's 
lovely  hair,  so  much  of  it ;  and  those  tight  braids 
hide  all  the  beauty.  You'll  please  me,  dear?" 
she  urged. 

"  Why,  if  you  put  it  that  way,  mamma,  le  grand 
artiste  may  spoil  it  for  once ;  but  I  shall  be  a 
week  getting  it  out  of  snarl." 

"  Oh  no ;  thank  you,  dear.  Go  on  with  your 
work ;  you  sha'  n't  be  disturbed  about  the  dress 
at  all ;  that  shall  be  perfect." 

Clare  looked  anxious  but  said  nothing.  After 
all,  dress  was  of  little  account,  and  taking  up  the 
package  she  began  again  to  look  it  over. 

One  for  her  mother's  birthday,  one  for  Uncle 
Eric.  Dot  must  have  one,  other  friends  must  be 
remembered.  They  looked  so  fresh  and  new, 
she  smiled  as  her  hands  caressed  them,  looking 
at  the  dedication  and  the  initials — her  own—- 
with a  face  beaming  as  a  satisfied  child.  Then 
putting  all  but  one  away,  she  went  into  her  un- 
cle's room  to  the  table  at  which  he  wrote  and 
placed  it  before  him. 

"  They  've  come,  Uncle  Eric." 

"So  they  have.  Well,  well,  good  style, 
handy  size,  fair  print.  Yes,  I  like  it.  Now, 
Clare,  send  your  modest  scruples  to  the  winds 
and  push  out  boldly.  You  are  master  of  the 


CLARE'S  SUCCESS.  373 

subject,  you  can  make  the  lessons  as  alluring  as 
a  fairy  story,  and  you  are  supplying  a  need  felt 
in  every  family — botany  made  fascinating  for 
children.  Clare,  I  'm  satisfied  with  the  first  at- 
tempt ;  I  think  you  are." 

"  Yes,  uncle,  and  you  will  accept  the  first  I 
give  away,  for  you  have  taught  me  all  I  know. 
Dear  Uncle  Eric,  I  can  never  thank  you  enough 
for  these  years  of  patient  toil." 

"  Years  of  pleasure  to  me,  Clare ;  and  had 
they  not  been,  this  would  more  than  repay." 

"  But  you  wont  give  me  up,  uncle ;  I  am  still 
your  pupil?" 

"  Yes,  we  've  both  to  dig  deeper  yet,  only 
make  a  clean  sweep  as  we  go.  You  Ve  been  a 
surprise  to  Dot.  She  thinks  you  have  lost  the 
joy  of  living.  How  is  it,  Clare  ?  Do  you  feel 
that  my  advice  has  lost  you  anything?" 

"If  I  have  lost  it  was  to  gain  more,  a  per- 
manent joy  instead  of  one  fleeting.  Uncle,  when 
you  took  me  from  emptiness  itself,  you  gave  me 
enough  to  fill  up  with,  enough  to  make  my  bar- 
ren life  fertile." 

"True,  true,  Clare.  We'll  stand  by  each 
other  to  the  end.  Dedicated  to  the  mother; 
that  will  please  her." 

"  I  thought  so.  It  was  not  quite  suitable, 
perhaps,  a  child's  book ;  but  the  first,  you  know. 
And  it  was  good  and  wise  in  mother  to  let  me 


374  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

give  up  that  hateful  dancing.  I  believe  disgust 
of  that  sent  me  with  a  stronger  bound  towards 
real  hard  study." 

Thursday  evening  Clare,  with  some  repug- 
nance, put  herself  into  the  costume  her  mother 
had  prepared  for  her,  and  as  she  joined  her 
mother  she  was  met  with  a  proud  smile. 

"  Clare,  you  look  lovely.  I  am  very  proud  of 
my  daughter  to-night,  and  of  the  modest  little 
volume  I  found  on  my  dressing-table ;"  tears 
came  in  Mrs.  Hamlin's  eyes.  "  It  was  a  great 
surprise.  I  thank  you,  darling,  for  the  dedica- 
tion ;  it  is  my  best  birthday  gift.  Eric  was 
right;  I  came  near  making  life  a  wreck  for 
you." 

Letters  from  the  South  revealed  the  mystery 
of  Maggie's  imperative  call.  They  learned  of 
the  strangely  found  relatives,  the  felicity  of  both 
parties,  the  satisfaction  and  pride  of  mother 
Kent,  and  the  happy  adaptability  of  Maggie 
to  her  new  surroundings — all  recalling  to  the 
old  lady  the  experience  of  years  far  back  when 
she  held  a  mother's  place  towards  her  young  sis- 
ter, loved,  watched,  and  guided  her  until  the 
day  she  gave  her  to  Maggie's  father ;  the  year 
of  delightful  companionship  afterwards,  the  ill- 
ness of  the  young  'husband,  the  counsel  of  his 
physician  to  seek  a  milder  climate,  the  grief  of 
the  parting,  the  anxiety  of  the  year  that  followed, 


CLARE'S  SUCCESS.  375 

the  death  of  the  father,  the  letters  of  the  grief- 
stricken  wife,  the  horror  of  the  last  tidings — the 
storm,  the  wreck,  the  loss.  She  could  only  lis- 
ten, tears  rolling  over  her  soft,  wrinkled  cheeks, 
as  Maggie,  dropping  her  head  upon  her  aunt's 
knees,  described  the  dreadful  dreams  that 
haunted  her  early  years,  rehearsed  the  scenes  of 
her  pitiable  childhood,  and  the  part  Clare  and 
Dot  had  in  its  brightness  since.  "  God  has  been 
good  to  me ;  he  has  given  me  the  best  of  all 
good  things,  friends." 

Every  pleasant  item  of  their  daily  life  went 
to  the  Northern  friends.  Maggie  wrote  weekly 
to  Barbara,  Miss  Brainard  to  her  sister.  She 
said  they  would  not  hasten  back.  The  Kents 
were  to  remain  through  the  year.  They  begged 
her  to  lengthen  her  visit  or  to  leave  Maggie 
with  them.  Aunt  Clarissa  preferred  to  stay  a 
few  weeks  longer.  The  climate  was  wonderful ; 
it  suited  her  entirely.  What  Florida  would  be 
without  the  climate  she  failed  to  conceive.  She 
felt  herself  growing  stronger,  more  vigorous — 
as  though  there  could  be  a  necessity  —  more 
youthful.  It  was  everlasting  summer.  She 
might  never  be  there  again.  She  always  fan- 
cied large  doses  of  what  pleased  her. 

The  young  people  were  daily  revelling  in 
new  delights  now,  a  picnic  under  the  great  oaks 
by  the  lake  or  a  steam  ride  to  some  romantic 


376  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

spot  upon  the  gulf  coast;  just  now  they  were 
planning  a  few  days  at  Winter  Park,  and  had 
engaged  rooms  at  the  "  Seminole."  The  Kents 
were  to  join  them  and  insisted  upon  taking 
Maggie  and  Dot  as  their  guests.  It  had  been 
first  thought  of  as  a  change  for  Lucy,  finally  to 
enter  Harry  at  Rollin's  College.  His  desultory, 
hap-hazard  mode  of  study  was  having  a  bad  in- 
fluence ;  he  was  old  enough  to  go  safely  from 
home,  though  he  was  the  same  mother-boy  as 
ever,  but,  boylike,  ready  for  any  change. 

She  sent  tender  messages  to  Barbara,  adding, 
"  Keep  the  child  with  you  till  I  come,  Dolly. 
Maggie  is  broken-hearted  about  her.  She  tells 
me  the  love  between  the  father  and  child  was 
beautiful  to  look  upon,  and  to  think  of  her  as 
alone  in  the  world  would  move  any  heart  to 
compassion.  I  am  thankful  Becky  could  com- 
fort her.  Becky  is  a  treasure ;  tell  her  so  from 
me.  And  you  know  my  home  is  big  enough 
and  will  be  empty  enough — as  I  foresee  that 
between  mother  Kent  and  our  quiet  nephew 
Ned  my  chance  of  companionship  will  be  small. 
Perhaps  I  've  had  my  share.  She  has  been  a 
joy  to  me.  I  always  thought  her  nice-looking, 
but  down  here  she  is  fairly  beautiful.  There 's  no 
gift  from  God  to  mortals  like  that  of  a  friend ; 
every  real  friendship  brings  with  it  the  remercu 
brance  of  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  fully  appre- 


CLARE'S  SUCCESS.  377 

ciated  God's  gift  of  his  Son  to  us  —  the  one 
Friend  above  all  others.  Every  lesser  love 
springs  from  that  and  gives  increased  glory  to 
life.  Maggie  develops  a  more  spiritual  grace 
under  the  brightness  of  this  new  relationship. 
A  tender  glow  of  love  shines  from  her  eyes 
upon  the  gentle  old  lady  that  is  quite  a  new 
feature  in  the  appearance  of  our  energetic  young 
nurse. 

"  We  can  hardly  tell  just  when  you  will  see 
us.  Attribute  all  delays  to  the  fascination  this 
free  life  has  for  me.  One  could  live  here  in  a 
tent  but  for  the  occasional  rains ;  we  have  had 
some  severe  ones;  by-and-by  they  will  come 
daily  with  a  kind  of  mad  energy  that  one  must 
experience  to  understand.  But  we  like  it  and 
wish  you  all  were  here.  I  think  of  putting  up  a 
winter  cottage  after  the  land  is  a  little  more 
cleared  up.  Then  we  '11  have  room  for  everybody. 
Brother  says  we  cannot  leave  until  it 's  too  hot 
to  stay  longer ;  now  we  have  a  blaze  on  the 
hearth  morning  and  evening.  Nights  are 
cool." 

The  spring  passed  and  there  was  no  word  of 
returning.  Friends  thought  they  would  surely 
come  in  May.  The  month  closed  and  the  ideal 
life  still  went  on,  too  delightful  to  break  up. 
Harry  had  begun  his  student  life  at  Winter 
Park,  Maggie  was  domiciled  at  the  Kents, 


3/8  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

though  there  was  slight  separation  between  the 
families  at  this  time.  June  opened — they  still 
lingered.  There  had  been  a  rumor  at  the  North 
of  yellow  fever  at  Tampa,  and  the  friends  were 
troubled.  Aunt  Clarissa  replied  to  their  entrea- 
ties that  Tampa  was  seldom  quite  free  from 
fever,  but  they  had  not  the  slightest  fear ;  they 
were  so  far  from  the  line  of  travel  there  was  no 
danger;  that  they  expected  to  leave  there  by 
the  middle  of  the  month,  and  she  had  delayed 
for  the  sake  of  having  her  brother's  company 
as  far  as  St.  Augustine,  where  she  intended  to 
spend  a  few  days  for  Maggie's  sake. 

It  was  useless  to  attempt  to  contest  Aunt 
Clarissa.  She  was  a  host  in  herself.  Her  plans 
were  formed  with  deliberation.  They  were 
right ;  no  one  must  interfere. 

Barbara  had  fallen  into  a  pensive,  quiet  state, 
more  hopeful  under  Becky's  kindly  guidance, 
filling  the  hours  with  helpful  work  intermingled 
with  seasons  of  painting  that  for  the  time  helped 
her  to  forget  grief. 

Jack  came  on  to  be  with  his  mother  a  while ; 
the  June  days  beckoned  him ;  he  feared  no  one 
would  remember  his  mother's  love  of  roses,  and 
he  could  furnish  her  a  fresh  supply  daily. 
These  unexpected,  short  visits  from  her  jovial 
boy  gave  the  mother  a  new  lease  of  life.  She 
brightened  visibly,  allowing  herself  to  be  car- 


CLARE'S  SUCCESS.  379 

ried  to  the  carriage  for  a  half-hour  ride  in  the 
sunshine  that  flooded  everything.  She  wished 
him  to  see  Miss  Gray  soon.  She  had  sent  her  a 
note  one  day,  through  Mr.  Hamlin,  but  there 
had  been  no  reply  yet.  "  I  missed  you  sadly 
that  day,  my  boy.  I  knew  you  would  discover 
it  if  I  wrote  to  you  in  that  mood ;  my  thoughts 
reverted  to  your  friend ;  it  seemed  natural  to 
write  a  few  words  to  her.  I  would  like  to  see 
her." 

She  attributed  to  the  young  teacher  a  strange 
power  over  those  she  taught,  bringing  about  a 
higher  moral  development  in  them  almost  from 
the  mere  contact  with  her  stronger  character- 
istics, her  silent  power.  She  did  not  see  how 
great  a  factor  in  her  son's  case  was  her  own  un- 
varying patience  and  trust :  that  although  Miss 
Gray  appealed  to  his  better  nature,  she  held  be- 
fore him  the  beautiful  picture  of  his  waiting, 
hoping,  loving  mother. 

There  was  no  doubt  now.  He  was  doing 
well — full  of  ambition,  looking  to  a  life  of  action, 
happy  in  it,  and  making  her  days  bright  with 
his  frequent  visits  and  confidences.  He  must 
crowd  the  few  days  full  of  pleasure.  The  young 
people  must  be  together ;  he  must  brighten  Bar- 
bara's heavy  heart.  Thus  she  planned  rides 
and  walks  for  them,  sails  on  the  river  and  excur- 
sions on  the  mountain.  With  so  many  engage- 


380  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

ments  Jack  delayed  his  call  upon  Miss  Gray 
from  time  to  time. 

Mr.  Hamlin  had  given  her  the  note  from 
Mrs.  Ellis,  the  reading  of  which  brought  to  her 
beautiful  face  an  expression  of  hope. 

"  Mrs.  Ellis  would  like  to  meet  you,  Miss 
Gray.  She  is  not  able  to  go  out,  and  she  bade 
me  say  she  would  be  glad  to  see  you  at  her 
home." 

"  I  would  like  to  know  Jack's  mother ;  but — 
but  my  duties  forbid  such  pleasures.  Will  you 
give  her  my  regrets?"  she  asked  in  a  hesitating 
manner  that  awakened  anew  his  sympathy. 
He  could  not  but  see  that  her  life  was  a  sad  one, 
and  the  sympathy  of  his  manly  heart  was  roused. 
He  knew  that  heavy  burdens  of  some  sort  were 
bruising  her  youth  and  crushing  her  heart ; 
that  early  years  had  not  prepared  her  for  the 
life  she  was  now  trying  so  bravely  to  meet.  He 
longed  to  transfer  the  burden  from  her  frail 
shoulders  to  his  own  and  bear  it  all  for  her ;  but 
he  dared  not  speak  to  tell  her  all  he  felt. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  interview  that  her 
place  in  school  was  one  day  vacant.  Mr.  Ham- 
lin was  perplexed ;  no  word  of  excuse  had 
reached  him.  He  grew  more  and  more  uneasy 
as  the  day  advanced,  and  meeting  Jack  on  the 
street  after  school-hours,  mentioned  the  fact  of 
her  absence. 


CLARE'S  SUCCESS.  381 

"  I  must  go  there :  she  needs  me,"  was  his 
quick  reply,  turning  away. 

"  Stay,  Jack.  What  do  you  fear  ?  Shall  I  go 
with  you  ?" 

And  Jack,  who  never  thought  but  that 
any  friend  would  be  welcome  if  it  was  as  he 
feared,  led  the  way  to  the  far-off  tenement  where 
the  guiding  spirit  of  his  life  dwelt.  The  master 
felt  irresistibly  drawn  to  follow.  The  day's 
absence  had  brought  the  maiden  before  him  as 
her  actual  presence  had  never  done.  Then  rose 
suddenly  and  tumultuously  into  his  conscious- 
ness hopes  and  fears  that  might  mar  or  enrich 
his  life.  Yet  Miss  Gray's  modest  reserve  had 
given  him  no  encouragement  to  indulge  in  the 
one  or  the  other.  Why  he  should  be  hastening 
to  her  at  the  first  suspicion  of  her  need  he  could 
not  tell,  only  that  as  the  boy  in  his  frank,  ardent 
way  started  on  his  errand  of  help  or  comfort, 
he  had  no  power  to  stay  behind ;  he  must  go 
even  if  he  risked  her  displeasure  by  doing  so. 

"  I  hope  nothing  has  happened.  I  tell  you, 
Mr.  Hamlin,  she  has  done  more  for  me  than  any 
other  living  soul.  If  I  'm  ever  any  more  than  I 
am  now,  I  shall  owe  it  to  her." 

"  I  know  it,  Jack ;  I  have  watched  it.  And 
there  are  others  who  feel  the  power  of  her  moral 
influence  as  well  as  the  benefit  of  her  teach- 
ing. There  is  a  beautiful  simplicity  in  her  life 


382  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

that  grows  more  lovely  as  she  carries  it  onward 
into  maturer  years." 

"  You  have  seen  it,  then,  too  ?" 

"  None  fail  to  see  it  who  know  her,  Jack." 

"  Here  we  are,"  interrupted  the  young  man. 

"  I  will  remain  here.  If  she  needs  me,  say 
so ;  if  not,  you  need  not  mention  me,  Jack." 

He  walked  on  slowly,  while  Jack  went  up  to 
her  apartments.  As  he  knocked,  the  nurse  ap- 
peared ;  her  troubled  face  took  on  an  expression 
of  intense  relief  as  she  recognized  him. 

"  Come  in,  sir,"  she  whispered.  "  My  young 
lady  will  be  very  glad  to  have  you  here.  She  is 
in  great  trouble,  poor  child !  Come  right  in." 

The  young  teacher  stood  by  the  high  dormer- 
window  of  the  inner  room,  looking  into  the  west- 
ern sky ;  her  hands  were  clasped  upon  the  case- 
ment, and  the  heavily-fringed  lids  shaded  the 
dark  pathetic  eyes,  now  full  of  tears.  She  heard 
his  step,  and  turning  she  held  out  both  hands, 
saying  in  a  voice  freighted  with  grief, 

"  My  friend,  you  come  in  my  hour  of  need. 
I  have  wanted  you  to-day  so  much  that  I  thought 
you  must  know  it.  Oh,  Jack,  you  are  worth 
everything  to  me  now !" 

"  What  is  it  ?"  he  asked,  terrified  at  her  pale- 
ness. 

"  My  mission  is  accomplished,  my  work  is 
done.  I  Ve  nothing  more  to  live  for." 


CLARE'S  SUCCESS.  383 

"  Is  he  dead  ?"  he  whispered. 

She  bowed  her  head,  while  tears  rained  over 
her  white  face. 

"  Do  not  grieve  so,  Miss  Gray.  His  suffer- 
ing is  over  now  and  I  will  be  your  brother." 

"  It  is  not  my  loss,  not  that  I  am  alone  in  the 
world,  but  this  dreadful  hopelessness.  As  he 
lived,  so  he  died ;  and  for  months  I  have  prayed 
that  he  might  at  last  waken  to  consciousness,  to 
hope.  Motherless  and  a  stranger,  I  still  had 
him  left ;  but  all  to-day  I  have  been  alone — this 
dreadful  solitude  cheered  by  no  hope  for  him. 
I  thought  I  could  not  bear  it ;  and  now  you  have 
come  to  help  me,  my  friend  !" 

Jack  noted  the  effect  of  her  struggle  with 
painful  sympathy,  and  with  words  of  comfort 
encouraged  hope  and  trust ;  and  when  the  nurse 
came  to  him  to  consult  about  the  funeral,  with- 
out thinking  of  the  promise  so  long  ago  made, 
he  left  her,  saying,  "  I  will  come  back  with  one 
who  knows  better  than  I  what  to  do." 

Abruptly  leaving,  he  went  over  the  stairs  at 
his  most  headlong  speed  and  sought  the  master, 
who  still  paced  up  and  down  on  the  street. 

"  Come  up,  Mr.  Hamlin.  Her  brother  is 
dead.  I  do  n't  know  what  to  do  for  them." 

Perhaps,  on  the  whole,  it  was  the  best  thing 
he  could  have  done,  for  Miss  Gray's  grief  over- 
came the  pride  that  had  led  to  her  reserve  with 


384  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

the  professor,  and  his  kindness,  his  delicate 
attentions,  and  the  persistency  with  which  he 
took  the  whole  charge  of  affairs  gave  her  cour- 
age, allayed  her  fears,  and  finally  proved  a  source 
of  real  comfort  and  peace  to  her. 

She  accepted  his  services  thankfully,  and 
found,  as  one  sad  duty  pressing  upon  another 
was  lifted  entirely  from  her,  how  kind  and  ready 
a  friend  he  had  become. 

"  I  cannot  come  back  to  teach  at  present,"  she 
had  said. 

"  Of  course  not ;  take  all  the  time  you  need. 
I  can  find  one  to  take  your  place.  Give  yourself 
no  anxiety,"  he  replied. 

The  next  day  Jack  brought  Mrs.  Hamlin  to 
her.  His  thoughtfulness  touched  her,  and  she 
welcomed  the  stranger  with  a  grave,  sweet  cor- 
diality that  won  her  heart  on  the  instant. 

"You  should  have  allowed  me  to  come  be- 
fore, Miss  Gray.  It  is  not  best  to  try  to  bear 
everything  alone.  None  may  afford  to  make  a 
joyless  life  for  themselves,  my  dear." 

"  I  have  not  made  it  so ;  I  have  only  accept- 
ed it.  It  is  joyless  and  barren  now." 

"  But  it  shall  not  be  so  long,  my  poor  child. 
You  must  let  me  show  my  friendship  and  do 
what  I  can  for  you." 

"  Most  thankfully,  Mrs.  Hamlin.  I  cannot 
refuse  what  I  so  much  need — a  friend." 


CLARE'S  SUCCESS.  385 

It  was  a  quiet  funeral ;  only  two  carriages 
took  the  friends — Miss  Gray  with  her  nurse  in 
one,  Mrs.  Hamlin,  Uncle  Eric,  Jack,  and  Clare 
in  the  other.  This  last  attention  was  perhaps 
worth  as  much  to  her  bruised  heart  as  all  the  oth- 
ers, and  her  eyes  expressed  the  gratitude  she  felt. 

A  week  after  this  day  of  bitter  memories 
Miss  Gray  sat  with  Mrs.  Ellis.  Jack  had  gone 
to  his  work.  She  had  promised  him  to  break 
over  her  reserve  for  his  sake.  Mrs.  Ellis  had  a 
gentle,  motherly  voice  and  a  hopeful  manner. 
She  was  urging  her  to  give  up  teaching. 

"  You  are  worn  with  care ;  you  need  rest. 
Come  to  me  a  while,  I  am  so  lonely  without 
Jack.  We  can  help  each  other." 

"  I  cannot  be  idle,  Mrs.  Ellis.  My  old  nurse 
must  still  have  a  home  with  me,  and  I  love  the 
work.  It  brings  its  own  rewards.  Your  friend- 
ship is  one." 

"Thank  you,  dear;  but  you  might  make  it 
less  arduous  by  moving  nearer — taking  rooms 
in  this  vicinity.  Why  not  ?" 

"  I  may  do  so  another  year,  Mrs.  Ellis,  not 
yet." 

She  did  not  say  that  all  her  salary  had  been 
used  to  defray  the  increased  expenses  of  this 
last  illness  and  that  debts  were  already  staring 
her  in  the  face,  small  as  yet,  to  be  sure,  but 
ugly-looking  and  threatening  as  they  stood  daily 

What  Girls  C»u  Do.  2 


386  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

before  her,  more  to  be  feared  than  poverty  or 
hard  work,  than  sickness  or  death.  She  must 
take  up  the  burden  again  for  her  own  sake  and 
that  of  her  faithful  nurse. 

She  had  signified  her  intention  to  the  master 
of  at  once  going  back  to  duty,  and  being  urged 
by  him  to  take  another  week,  had  positively  re- 
fused, the  more  decidedly  when  he  told  her  that 
she  needed  rest,  and  that  in  case  of  illness  her 
salary  was  continued  the  same.  If  that  were  so 
she  would  begin  at  once.  Miss  Gray  could  not 
receive  that  for  which  she  might  not  give  an 
equivalent ;  and  the  following  Monday  she  was 
promptly  at  her  post,  a  little  paler  and  less  ani- 
mated, but  no  less  determined. 

As  the  week  advanced  she  felt  herself  lag- 
ging in  the  work ;  her  classes  pressed  her  close- 
ly; the  young,  shrill,  healthy  voices  seemed  to 
grate  over  her  bare  nerves;  the  eager,  ambi- 
tious, impulsive  natures  appeared  to  be  gallop- 
ing away  out  of  her  reach,  where  she  could  not 
direct  or  guide  them.  She  began  to  realize  that 
after  all  she  might  not  be  able  to  keep  up  with 
the  demands  upon  her  strength,  when  towards 
the  close  of  the  day  Mr.  Hamlin  came  near, 
saying,  "  I  will  take  this  recitation,  Miss  Gray ; 
mine  are  over.  My  sister  has  just  driven  up 
with  the  girls  and  they  wish  you  to  ride  with 
them." 


CLARE'S  SUCCESS.  387 

A  look  of  gratitude  more  than  repaid  him. 
The  simple  words,  "  I  am  tired  and  you  are  so 
kind,"  were  not  needed,  though  he  found  the 
echo  of  them  lingering  in  his  heart  long  after. 

Clare  found  her  in  the  dressing-room  and 
took  her  to  the  carriage,  where  Mrs.  Hamlin 
and  Barbara  welcomed  her.  The  most  comfort- 
able corner  was  for  her,  the  side  where  the  best 
views  could  be  seen,  and  the  ride  was  to  be  in 
whichever  direction  she  preferred.  An  hour  in 
the  country  and  she  was  refreshed  and  cheered. 
They  left  her  at  the  door,  little  dreaming  how 
closely  her  tired  heart  clung  to  these  few  re- 
maining friends. 


388  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

LEFT  BEHIND. 

THE  tenth  of  June  had  come  and  more  ur- 
gent calls  to  return  had  been  received  from 
the  North.  It  was  time  to  make  preparations. 
Auntie  had  hoped  by  delay  to  prevail  upon  the 
friends  to  go  back  with  her  and  help  fill  the 
great  colonial  house  at  Stanton  Falls  for  the 
coming  summer.  Mr.  Brainard  was  not  ready 
for  this  until  he  had  more  nearly  accomplished 
the  purpose  for  which  he  had  made  the  change. 

"  In  five  years  you  may  see  me  there,  not 
before." 

"  Well,  Lucy  wont  leave  you,  or  Ned  either, 
and  I  do  n't  want  them  to." 

The  Kents  had  spent  the  previous  summer 
at  the  North ;  they  also  would  remain  at  home 
this  year.  The  doctor  had  plans  of  building  at 
a  point  on  the  lake  farther  west  for  friends  who 
would  pass  the  winters  there  if  they  could  be 
accommodated  without  trouble.  The  work  was 
then  going  forward. 

They  found  increased  delight  in  daily  inter- 
course with  Maggie.  The  story  of  her  life  took 
on  a  charm  in  her  fresh  telling  that  was  irresist- 


LEFT   BEHIND.  389 

ible.  The  doctor  said  he  had  never  wasted  so 
much  time  over  his  coffee  as  since  discovering 
his  new  cousin.  They  could  not  be  reconciled 
to  her  going  from  them ;  but  there  were  other 
considerations  than  their  own  pleasure.  Miss 
Clarissa's  claim  was  to  be  respected.  Maggie 
was  not  prepared  for  a  longer  stay.  She  felt  the 
clear  call  of  duty ;  her  work  was  her  mistress. 
She  could  well  afford  to  say  good-by,  hoping  to 
come  again  next  year. 

There  was  hurry  and  confusion  enough  the 
next  morning  to  cover  the  sadness  of  parting. 
Those  who  suffered  most,  perhaps,  were  Mrs. 
Kent  and  Ned. 

A  few  days  brought  bright  letters  from  St. 
Augustine.  Mr.  Brainard  returned  within  a 
week,  enthusiastic  over  the  four  delightful  days 
they  had  spent  together  in  the  old  quaint  city. 
He  had  started  them  towards  home  ;  they  would 
spend  a  day  in  Jacksonville  and  go  through  on 
the  cars,  with  occasional  stops  on  the  way  for 
rest  and  variety.  Dot  had  taken  cold  and  was 
slightly  feverish,  but  Clarissa  thought  it  would 
pass  off.  "We  shan't  hear  again  until  they 
reach  home." 

"  It 's  a  mistake  not  pressing  right  home, 
now  they  've  started." 

"  How  so  ?  I  think  they  're  wise  to  get  all 
they  can  out  of  the  trip." 


39°  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"They  might  get  more  than  they'd  like. 
There  's  a  rumor  floating  of  a  case  of  yellow 
fever  in  Jacksonville.  It  may  be  false." 

"  Must  be.  I  should  have  heard  of  it.  I 
do  n't  believe  it.  They  wont  stay  there  but  a 
night  or  two.  It 's  too  hot.  I  wish  I  had  urged 
them  to  go  on." 

"  It  would  have  been  wiser ;  there  's  a  chance 
for  infection  to  be  carried  there  any  day." 

Meantime  the  objects  of  this  tender  interest 
were  unpacking  trunks  for  a  longer  stay  in  the 
doomed  city  than  any  one  had  anticipated. 

Dot's  fever  increased.  The  doctor  was  called 
in.  He  pronounced  it  at  first  to  be  a  slight 
bilious  attack.  But  it  fastened  itself  upon  her 
as  if  to  stay  ;  flashes  of  burning  fever  alternated 
with  creeping  chills  and  deathly  nausea,  until 
the  bright,  happy  girl,  who  had  never  known 
illness  before,  was  prostrated.  She  could  not 
be  moved ;  there  was  danger  of  its  assuming 
a  congestive  nature.  It  must  be  broken  up 
and  conquered  before  it  was  safe  to  resume 
travel. 

Miss  Brain  ard  sent  word  home  that  they  had 
started,  were  delayed  a  while  at  Jacksonville, 
would  be  home  in  a  week  certainly.  Then  she 
stood  before  the  glass,  looked  severely  at  her 
reflection,  and  addressed  herself  sharply  : 

"  Clarissa  Brainard  !      Are  you  equivocating 


LEFT   BEHIND.  39! 

or  holding  back  the  whole  truth  ?  Pshaw !  It 's 
only  a  trifling  indisposition.  If  I  should  write  it 
out  simply  from  my  own  fears,  I  should  have 
the  whole  family  down  here.  No,  that  would  be 
a  shameful  ending  to  such  a  winter.  We  11  fight 
this  thing.  The  child  will  be  all  right  in  a  day 
or  so.  We  11  not  stint  the  quinine :  follow  the 
doctor's  orders  faithfully.  I  wonder  if  he  is 
capable  of  magnifying  the  affair  to  secure  a 
patient.  What  an  unworthy  thought !  I  'm 
ashamed  of  myself.  Well,  I  am  hedged  in,  and 
there 's  no  help,  for  it."  She  returned  to  the  sick- 
room. Maggie  had  soothed  Dot  into  an  uneasy 
sleep,  and  the  two  talked  in  a  low  tone  over  the 
doleful  change  in  their  affairs. 

"  What  do  you  think,  child  ?  When  can  we 
leave?" 

"  If  we  were  North,  I  should  think  she  would 
be  better  very  soon ;  but  this  heat  is  so  depress- 
ing, and  the  last  chill  was  a  severe  one.  Still  I 
think  he  means  to  break  it  up.  I  shall  stay  with 
her  to-night,  and  you  must  sleep." 

"Well,  it's  best  to  take  it  turn  about,  and 
I  have  more  faith  in  you  than  myself  in  this 
case.  But  how  terribly  unfortunate." 

"  Perhaps  not.  We  are  not  accountable,  and 
God  cannot  make  a  mistake." 

"  True.  If  it  comes  within  his  plan  that  we 
stay  here  a  week  or  more,  there  's  no  reason  why 


392  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

I  should  conceal  it  from  her  mother.  It  strikes 
me  it  would  be  a  kind  of  interference." 

"  No,  auntie,  we  ought  not  to  do  that.  We 
never  can  know  the  result  of  any  illness." 

"  Child,  you  horrify  me.  I  will  write  at  once, 
tell  them  the  whole  story.  You  are  more  accus- 
tomed to  sickness  than  I ;  you  do  n't  think  it 
serious?" 

"  Oh  no ;  only  it 's  your  own  way  to  be  open." 

"  So  it  is  ;  you  are  right.  I  will  send  another 
letter.  I  only  feared  to  worry  them." 

Dot  was  better  the  next  day,  two  severe  chills 
had  taken  her  strength  ;  she  wanted  to  lie  quiet- 
ly and  doze ;  towards  night  she  brightened,  sat 
up  and  gave  them  a  few  snatches  of  song.  The 
following  day  she  was  again  prostrated ;  the 
chill  was  milder  and  she  rallied  more  quickly. 
There  was  nothing  for  them  but  to  yield  to  the 
necessity,  hard  as  it  seemed.  For  once  Miss 
Brainard  was  obliged  to  submit  to  circumstances 
with  what  grace  she  could  command. 

Dot  suffered  bravely,  fought  back  her  tears, 
and  concealed  her  disappointment  and  home- 
sickness. She  felt  the  child's  need  of  the  mo- 
ther. She  wanted  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  of 
home.  She  had  a  feeling  that  the  loss  she  had 
sustained  could  be  restored  only  through  the 
touch  of  mother-love.  Maggie's  task  was  to  en- 
courage and  cheer.  Every  day  at  sunset  Mag- 


LEFT  BEHIND.  393 

gie  went  for  fruit  and  flowers,  cooling  drinks, 
or  anything  to  refresh  and  please. 

In  these  walks  she  had  often  met  a  young 
woman  in  black  who  took  the  same  breezy  hour 
for  the  same  purpose.  She  had  noticed  her  at 
their  table  d'  hote  occasionally,  had  learned  that 
she  was  a  widow,  detained  by  the  protracted  ill- 
ness of  an  only  child.  She  was  not  strong,  and 
the  danger  of  overtaxing  herself  and  sinking  be- 
neath the  burden  was  imminent.  Thus  she  too 
had  taken  the  early  evening  for  a  change  of 
scene,  and  frequently  the  two  had  met,  going  or 
coming. 

One  day,  at  the  late  dinner  hour,  the  stranger 
took  her  seat  looking  very  white  and  weary, 
scarcely  raising  her  eyes,  and  eating  so  little 
that  Maggie  wondered  why  she  had  made  the 
effort  to  come  down. 

"  My  little  widow  does  n't  look  happy,  auntie." 

"So  I  see.  How  is  the  child,  I  wonder? 
Would  it  be  a  little  less  heathenish  to  ask  ?" 

"  I  '11  speak  to  her.    Would  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  do  go ;  leave  a  cup  of  comfort  in  some 
shape." 

Maggie  needed  no  other  impulse;  crossing 
the  room,  she  sat  beside  her. 

"  I  came  to  inquire  about  your  little  girl.  Is 
she  doing  well  ?" 

"  Thank  you.    She  is  no  worse :  but  I  am  in 


394  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

trouble.  My  nurse  became  ill,  and  I  have  been 
unable  to  get  another.  I  believe  I  am  getting 
tired  out ;"  she  pushed  her  plate  away.  "  I  must 
go  back ;  the  doctor  insisted  upon  my  coming 
down ;  he  is  with  her." 

"  Tell  me  your  number ;  I  will  come  round." 

"  How  kind !  Thirty-six,  second  floor.  Do 
come." 

Maggie  went  back,  told  Miss  Brainard,  and 
asked  if  she  had  better  offer  her  services  for  the 
night. 

"Why  yes,  if  you  wont  overdo.  I  don't 
want  you  sick ;  think  we  can  go  in  a  week,  cer- 
tainly." 

"  Yes,  no  doubt.  But  I  'm  of  no  use  to  Dot 
when  you  are  with  her ;  she 's  coming  along 
nicely,  and  I  'm  aching  to  get  to  work.  I  '11  slip 
on  a  wrapper  and  stay  with  her  to-night." 

A  short  half -hour  and  she  tapped  at  No.  36. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Doane,  how  kind  !  May  is  sleep- 
ing ;  come  in.  How  good  to  see  a  woman's  face 
here !" 

"  I  've  come  to  stay  the  night.  You  are  to 
tell  me  what  to  do  and  then  go  right  to  bed ; 
take  a  through  ticket  and  sleep  till  morning." 

The  worn  face  lit  up  amazingly. 

"Are  you  able?" 

"Yes,  and  willing.  Now  go  and  rest.  I 
understand  ;  I  will  watch  every  moment." 


LEFT  BEHIND.  395 

It  was  a  large  room  ;  tier  bed  was  on  the  far 
side,  while  the  child's  cot  stood  near  the  window, 
where  every  breath  of  air  could  be  made  avail- 
able. 

The  shaded  light  burned  low.  She  arranged 
all  that  was  necessary  for  her  night's  work  while 
the  mother  prepared  for  rest.  With  a  glance 
towards  Maggie  she  slipped  round  to  the  foot  of 
the  bed  and  knelt.  So  long  she  remained,  think- 
ing herself  unseen,  that  Maggie  grew  disturbed. 
The  little  one  still  slept,  the  mother  still  at 
prayer ;  or  had  she,  exhausted,  fallen  asleep  ? 

Maggie  was  sure  she  ought  to  be  in  her  bed, 
and  quietly  approaching  found  her  convulsed 
with  sobs  she  was  vainly  trying  to  suppress. 

"  Why,  why,  my  dear  Mrs.  Heath,  this  will 
never  do.  The  dear  Father  knows  all  you  would 
say  to  him.  You  are  precious  in  his  sight.  You 
are  his  own.  He  cares  for  his  own." 

"  If  my  little  girl  is  to  die  too — " 

"Now  you  are  taking  to-morrow's  burden. 
It  is  more  than  you  can  bear.  Leave  it  with 
God,  who  loves  you  better  than  you  love  the 
child.  She  is  yours  to-day ;  this  peaceful  sleep 
may  bring  strength  ;  she  may  be  better  after  it. 
Now  will  you  lie  down  and  sleep  and  let  me  go 
back  to  her  ?" 

"  How  utterly  selfish  I  am  ;  forgive  me.  It 
looks  brighter," 


396  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

Maggie  led  her  to  the  bed,  gave  her  a  mo- 
therly little  pat,  and  touched  the  eyelids,  saying, 

"  I  forbid  you  to  open  them  again  till  day 
breaks." 

"  You  shall  be  obeyed." 

The  night  passed,  and  many  nights  Maggie 
found  she  could  be  of  service,  that  she  was 
needed.  No  speck  of  self  defiled  her  beautiful 
labor  of  love. 

Dot  improved  very  rapidly  now.  The  day  of 
leaving  was  fixed.  Mr.  Hamlin  had  telegraphed 
to  know  if  he  should  meet  them  at  any  point. 

No  indeed.  Miss  Clarissa  was  not  prepared 
for  such  ignoble  ending  of  her  long  holiday. 
She  would  finish  it  in  her  own  independent 
style. 

Dot's  bird-notes  began  to  flow  again  ;  inmates 
of  rooms  near  paused  to  catch  the  rich  outpour 
of  song  she  could  no  longer  stifle  as  the  time 
drew  near  for  the  journey  home. 

"  Auntie,  would  it  be  possible  for  you  to  take 
all  the  care  of  Dot  on  the  way  ?" 

"  Possible !  Certainly.  She  is  no  care  now. 
Why  ?  Do  you  feel  exhausted,  sick  ?" 

"  No,  indeed.  But  Mrs.  Heath  was  so  heart- 
broken at  the  thought  of  my  leaving  that  I 
promised  to  stay  until  the  child  was  able  to  be 
moved,  if  you  were  willing." 

"You  did?" 


LEFT  BEHIND.  397 

"  Yes,"  answered  Maggie,  with  doubtful  as- 
surance. 

"Well,  I  don't  blame  you;  but  does  that 
little  woman  realize  what  she  demands  ?" 

"  She  doesn't  demand  it.  I  'm  not  sure  she  '11 
accept  it.  I  would  like  to  help  her;  and  the 
child  is  really  improving.  It's  a  wonderful 
case  the  doctor  says  himself." 

"  The  wonder  is  in  the  nurse,  in  my  opinion. 
But,  child,  you  must  decide  for  yourself ;  I  can't ; 
no,  I  cannot  take  the  responsibility.  Mother 
Kent  would  never  forgive  me  if  she  knew  it." 

"  Then  I  may  stay  ?  It  looks  like  duty  to  me. 
Am  I  not  being  led  ?  The  little  hands  hold  me 
strongly.  Auntie,  are  you  willing  ?  I  can't  stay 
unless  you  are." 

"  I  must  be.  I  make  a  point  to  have  no  war 
with  duty.  But  you  must  decide,  child." 

"  Then,  dear  Aunt  Clarissa,  I  will  stay ;  it 
may  be  but  a  few  weeks,  and  if  I  can  save  the 
mother  from  overmuch  care  I  shall  be  glad." 

The  spinster  took  the  brave  girl  in  her  arms 
for  a  single  moment. 

"  My  girlie,  may  He  have  you  in  His  keep- 
ing." 

Mrs.  Heath  accepted  the  offer,  realizing  the 
advantage  to  herself  and  their  sacrifice.  It  was 
on  Maggie's  part  a  self-renunciation,  made  long 
before,  not  to  be  interrupted  by  untoward  cir- 


398  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

cumstances.  No  doubt  she  had  her  dreams; 
but  she  could  not  make  herself  the  centre  of 
them.  They  were  dreams  of  service,  of  minis- 
trations to  those  who  needed  her  :  a  sweet,  bright 
word  where  words  could  help,  a  firm,  strong 
hand  where  weakness  was  to  be  upheld,  a  lov- 
ing patience  for  all.  If  haste  were  demanded, 
none  could  be  quicker.  If  waiting,  she  was 
strong  to  wait. 

It  was  with  an  air  of  cheer  and  courage  that 
she  stood  on  the  platform  at  the  station  and 
watched  the  departure.  Miss  Clarissa's  eyes 
were  rilled  full  of  tears;  Dot  looked  but  half 
convinced  that  it  was  right  to  leave  her.  The 
sky  was  overcast,  the  atmosphere  gray  and 
muggy ;  the  night  had  not  refreshed  them  ;  the 
only  alleviating  thought  was  that  they  were 
homeward  bound.  To  leave  that  bright,  strong, 
hopeful  face  behind  in  the  gray  gloom  was 
enough  to  move  a  heart  of  stone,  Miss  Brainard 
said  to  herself,  as  she  took  the  last  look  upon  the 
brave  figure  in  her  white  dress,  like  the  incar- 
nation of  Christian  love — a  spirit  of  hope  and 
strength  and  courage  that  rebuked  her  weaken- 
ing faith. 

The  excitement  of  travel  roused  Dot. 
Thoughts  of  home  and  mother  flushed  her 
cheek.  She  was  glad  as  they  advanced  ;  the  air 
became  tonic ;  she  freshened  visibly ;  the  im- 


LEFT    BEHIND.  399 

provement  reacted  upon  Aunt  Clarissa's  spirits ; 
she  feared  less  for  Maggie.  They  would  push 
right  through  to  Washington,  resting  a  night 
there.  The  next  night  they  would  be  at  home. 

It  was  a  glad  household  that  welcomed  them. 
Dot  went  from  one  encircling  embrace  to  an- 
other, and  with  a  long,  fluttering  sigh  of  peace 
rested  at  last  upon  her  mother's  bosom  content, 
like  the  dove  drawn  safely  within  the  ark  with 
no  more  desire  to  wander.  She  was  satisfied. 
She  had  seen  all  the  outside  world  she  needed  to. 

They  looked  serious  as  they  learned  of  Mag- 
gie's stay.  It  was  unsafe.  There  were  rumors 
afloat,  vague  suspicions  in  the  air,  danger  to  one 
unacclimated ;  they  wondered  that  Clarissa  al- 
lowed it. 

"  I  felt  just  as  you  do.  It  made  me  weak  and 
sick  to  leave  her  there ;  but  what  could  I  do  ? 
The  child  is  of  age ;  she  's  no  fanatic.  It  was  the 
voice  of  God  to  her.  I  could  not  rebel  against 
Him.  It  was  hard,  was  n't  it,  Dot  ?" 

Becky  rested  a  hand  on  her  mistress'  arm 
and  replied, 

"  Have  no  fear ;  you  were  as  brave  to  leave 
her  as  she  was  to  stay.  The  Lord  will  protect 
his  own." 

4<  Has  my  Dot  been  happy  so  long  from  me?" 
whispered  the  mother,  under  the  sound  of  more 
eager  voices. 


4OO  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

"  Oh  very  happy,  mamma ;  I  Ve  never  felt 
quite  away  from  your  heart.  I  thought  I  could 
love  you  if  I  did  n't  see  you,  until  I  was  sick ; 
then  I  did  want  to  feel  your  arms." 

"Dear  child!"  How  tightly  the  arms  did 
clasp  her !  "  You  are  tired ;  you  must  lie  down. 
Clare,  bring  a  pillow,  and  the  afghan,  Barbara." 

"  That 's  right,"  interrupted  auntie ;  "  do  n't 
let  her  move  again  until  time  to  eat.  Now  rest, 
pet." 

There  was  little  rest;  each  one  wanted  a 
word  or  look.  Uncle  Eric  thought  she  had 
grown  tall ;  her  father  said  she  was  all  eyes ; 
Clare  and  Barbara  nestled  near  her  ;  and  Becky 
placed  a  tray  of  tempting  lunch  close  by  the 
lounge.  Then  Aunt  Clarissa's  tongue  was 
loosened,  and  she  poured  forth  a  torrent  of  in- 
formation that  no  one  cared  to  interrupt ;  her 
audience  was  eager  for  every  word.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  end  to  the  pictures  she  placed 
before  them. 

"  I  must  send  off  a  line  to  Harry  before  I 
stop,  but  I  shall  say  nothing  to  them  at  present 
of  Maggie  ;  I  should  have  both  families  shower- 
ing me  with  reproaches.  And  once  again  I  in- 
sist that  I  will  not  be  responsible.  But  I  do 
think  she  runs  a  great  risk." 


THE   FEVER.  4OI 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

THE  FEVER. 

DID  Maggie's  courage  fail  as  the  friends 
steamed  out  the  station  and  away  from  her? 
Did  any  doubt  regarding  the  wisdom  of  her  de- 
cision weaken  her  purpose  in  this  time  of  part- 
ing ?  She  made  no  sign.  If  there  was  a  throb 
of  fear  or  doubt,  none  discovered  it ;  if  her  step 
faltered  as  she  turned  back  to  the  hotel,  none 
knew  it  but  herself  and  the  Master  to  whose  ser- 
vice she  had  given  herself.  She  bought  fruit 
and  a  few  bright  blossoms  on  the  way,  and  was 
very  soon  beaming  upon  her  little  charge  with 
a  tender  smile. 

"  Have  I  been  utterly  heartless  to  allow  this 
sacrifice,  Miss  Doane?" 

"  No  indeed  ;  this  is  my  chosen  work  ;  what 
matter  where  I  do  it  ?  And  how  I  should  feel 
had  I  left  you  here  alone  with  the  little  girlie ! 
She  is  certainly  improving.  Don't  you  think 
she  looks  better?" 

"  I  dare  hope  it.  She  would  have  died  but 
for  you." 

"  I  do  n't  know  that.  Now  we  must  devote 
ourselves  to  her;  work  must  be  reduced  to  a 

Wh»t  Oil-In  Can  Do-  26 


402  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

system.  She  is  our  one  object;  we  will  take 
turns  in  everything ;  you  must  go  out  daily,  eat 
and  sleep  regularly." 

The  watching  and  labor  were  to  be  divided, 
that  both  might  retain  strength  for  whatever 
might  come  up.  As  soon  as  the  child  could  be 
safely  moved,  Mrs.  Heath  intended  going  to  her 
mother  in  Vermont. 

"If  my  girlie  lives  to  get  there,  the  air  of 
home  will  do  the  rest.  Oh  for  the  strength  of 
the  hills !  This  level  country  has  depressed  me 
from  the  first.  And  you,  Miss  Doane?" 

"I  do  n't  know  the  meaning  of  the  word  from 
experience.  I  think  I  'm  too  stolid  to  be  easily 
moved.  Is  the  doctor  coming  again  ?" 

"  He  was  here  while  you  were  out,  says  ev- 
erything is  going  finely.  He  congratulated  me 
upon  having  so  rare  a  friend  in  you." 

The  child  improved  daily  ;  the  mother's  spir- 
its grew  buoyant ;  the  time  of  leaving  must  be 
drawing  near.  Mrs.  Heath  thought  they  would 
start  the  last  of  the  month  or  the  first  of  August, 
and  reach  home  by  midsummer. 

A  week  later  they  were  startled  by  a  case  of 
yellow  fever  in  another  hotel.  A  traveller  from 
Tampa  had  fallen  ill  soon  after  arrival.  He  was 
quickly  removed  to  the  Sand  Hills  Hospital.  The 
doctors  pronounced  it  simply  a  sporadic  case, 
calming  for  the  time  the  rising  excitement. 


THE    FEVER.  403 

Mrs.  Heath  had  been  greatly  alarmed,  and 
was  now  more  than  ever  anxious  to  get  away. 

"  I  think  I  can  go  the  first  of  the  month, 
don't  you?" 

"  We  will  hope  so.  But  do  n't  be  impatient ; 
we  must  move  carefully  with  the  child.  I  'm 
going  to  walk  on  the  veranda  with  her  a  few 
minutes ;  I  believe  it  will  do  her  good." 

Every  day  Maggie  had  some  new  device  to 
hasten  the  recovery.  Every  day  the  doctor  nod- 
ded approval  at  her  indefatigable  energy.  Au- 
gust came  in  close  and  hot.  The  little  wind 
stirring  from  the  east  seemed  impregnated  with 
odors  from  the  low  flat  country  about  the  north- 
east creek,  which  had  never  been  thoroughly 
drained.  The  moisture  of  the  marshy  land  out- 
lying the  city  filled  the  air  and  settled  damp  and 
mouldy  upon  everything.  Unpleasant  rumors 
were  afloat,  the  days  were  heavy  with  the  dread 
of  coming  evil ;  men's  faces  were  dark  with 
foreboding.  It  had  flashed  through  the  city  that 
four  new  cases  had  been  removed  at  midnight 
to  St.  Luke's  and  Sand  Hills  Hospital.  The 
panic  grew  and  hundreds  left  the  city.  Houses 
were  closed,  stores  deserted,  those  who  were  able 
packing  and  preparing  for  speedy  removal. 

The  plague  increased.  The  next  day  five 
cases  were  reported.  The  board  of  health  was 
in  session  until  midnight.  There  was  no  longer 


404  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

doubt;  the  fever  was  prevalent  and  assuming 
epidemic  form.  The  people  were  panic-stricken, 
flying  in  pallid  fear  from  their  homes,  leaving 
all  their  possessions  in  the  care  of  servants  or 
unguarded.  What  matter,  if  perchance  life 
could  be  saved  ?  Outgoing  trains  and  boats  were 
crowded  to  their  full  capacity.  Orders  were 
issued  to  have  all  suspicious  cases  of  fever  re- 
ported at  once  at  headquarters.  A  station  was 
opened  for  the  fumigation  of  mail  and  baggage. 
Quarantine  was  established  and  committees  on 
relief  and  sanitation  appointed.  The  matter 
assumed  alarming  proportions,  and  Mrs.  Heath 
was  overwhelmed  with  terror.  She  besought 
the  doctor  to  advise  her. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  go  to  Atlanta  imme- 
diately. I  have  patients  who  will  go  at  once. 
Join  them.  It  is  your  safest  course ;  and  you 
also,  Miss  Doane." 

"  I  do  n't  think  Mrs.  Heath  needs  me  longer. 
I  will  find  a  maid  for  her,  then  I  shall  come  to 
you  for  work,  doctor." 

He  looked  upon  her  with  admiration. 

"  Do  you  know  what  is  before  you  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  I  am  strong,  doctor.  I  can  see  there  is  to 
be  work  enough,  and  I  should  be  ashamed  to 
show  my  face  to  my  friends  if  I  could  turn  my 
back  to  it." 


THE    FEVER.  405 

"Bravely  spoken!  I  will  furnish  a  nurse- 
maid for  you,  Mrs.  Heath,  whom  you  may  trust ; 
and  you  had  better  go  with  those  who  leave 
to-day.  I  think  between  you  the  little  girl  is 
saved." 

Before  lunch  the  trunks  were  filled  and 
strapped,  everything  ready  for  a  comfortable 
journey  as  far  as  Maggie's  forethought  and 
capacity  could  insure  it.  Maggie  held  the  child 
as  they  drove  to  the  station.  Mrs.  Heath  felt 
that  she  was  leaving  a  treasured  friend  behind, 
in  danger.  It  seemed  terribly  cold-blooded. 
But  even  as  Maggie  was  all  devotion  to  her 
work,  so  must  she  sacrifice  every  other  consid- 
eration to  the  welfare  of  her  child.  The  new 
maid  was  carefully  instructed,  the  little  one 
made  comfortable  in  a  sleeper.  Maggie  would 
not  leave  until  every  office  of  love  was  perfected. 
The  doctor  was  on  hand,  and  as  "  All  aboard  " 
sounded,  he  bade  a  hasty  farewell  and  stepped 
upon  the  platform,  not  before  he  had  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  young  mother's  tearful  face  as 
she  threw  her  arms  about  the  nurse  in  silent 
farewell. 

Maggie  was  not  unmoved,  he  saw,  as  she 
joined  him ;  there  was  a  half -suppressed  trem- 
ble in  her  voice  as  she  asked, 

"What  comes  next,  doctor?  I  am  in  your 
service." 


406  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"  A  good  long  night's  rest,  and  I  will  see  you 
to-morrow.  The  urgent  need  is  to  come.  The 
few  cases  thus  far  are  not  of  a  malignant  type. 
We  want  all  the  sensible  help  we  can  get,  and 
shall  no  doubt  stamp  it  out  very  soon.  Keep 
yourself  rested,  calm,  and  cheerful ;  fear  is  a 
weakness  that  make  rents  in  the  walls  and  the 
citadel  is  shaken." 

"  I  do  n't  think  I  shall  have  any  fear,  only  I 
must  work.  I  can't  be  idle." 

The  morning  found  her  in  a  soft,  dark  gray 
dress,  perfectly  plain,  a  satchel  packed  with  a 
few  absolute  necessaries,  her  breakfast  eaten,  and 
waiting  for  orders.  She  had  sent  letters  North 
with  a  note  inclosed  for  Mrs.  Kent,  begging 
Miss  Clarissa  to  keep  the  fact  of  her  still  being 
at  the  South  from  them.  It  was  useless  to  cause 
them  uneasiness.  "  And,  dear  auntie,  do  n't  ask 
me  to  return  until  my  work  is  done.  Do  n't  be 
anxious ;  I  never  felt  better.  I  am  strong,  and 
we  both  know  that  He  in  whose  care  I  am  is 
mighty." 

She  posted  the  letter.  The  doctor  drove  up 
as  she  returned,  and  she  soon  appeared  with  the 
bag  and  a  strap  holding  a  heavy  shawl  and  a 
wrap  for  night. 

"  Is  there  much  fever  in  the  city,  doctor  ?" 

"  I  'm  not  going  to  give  you  a  fever  patient 
to  begin  with.  I  have  a  little  maid  round  here 


THE   FEVER.  407 

who  needs  care.  They  would  have  left  the  city, 
but  the  father  is  in  South  Florida,  the  mother 
terrified,  and  needs  cheerful  help  in  nursing. 
It 's  not  serious  at  all.  I  wont  enroll  you  on  the 
fever  list  until  there  is  more  urgent  need ;  for 
then  you  will  not  be  allowed  on  the  street,  and 
I  think  you  like  plenty  of  air  and  exercise." 

"  Oh  I  do.  I  hope  I  sha'  n't  be  denied  that ; 
but  I  'm  ready  for  anything." 

"  I  see  you  are.  There  '11  be  plenty  to  do 
here  for  a  few  days.  It 's  a  bilious  attack,  sud- 
den, but  under  control.  Your  new  patient  is  a 
funny  little  thing,  about  twelve.  Here  we  are." 

They  had  turned  in  upon  extensive  grounds, 
in  the  better  part  of  the  city,  where,  among  a 
wealth  of  uncared-for  shrubbery,  a  large,  com- 
fortable house  was  half  hidden.  Flowers,  shrubs, 
vines,  and  weeds  strove  for  the  mastery.  An 
old  colored  woman  came  to  the  door  at  the  sound 
of  their  approach. 

"  Praise  de  Lord,  you 's  come.  De  missus 
do  go  on  ter'ble  bad,  an'  dat  Puss  mighty  sassy 
when  de  grip  don'  shet  'er  mouf." 

"  Not  encouraging,  surely,"  said  the  doctor, 
"  but  I  think  you  '11  deal  wisely  with  Puss." 

"  Is  that  her  name  ?" 

"  She  is  Ruth  Ripley  in  a  legal  sense.  Her 
dear  friends  call  her  Puss  when  pleased,  other- 
wise Puss  Rippet,  on  account  of  her  claws." 


408  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

"  A  formidable  patient,  doctor." 

"  You  '11  bring  her  to  terms.  Unfortunately 
she  is  not  ill  enough  to  be  reasonably  submis- 
sive." He  helped  her  to  alight,  and  led  the  way 
into  the  house.  It  was  bright,  open,  and  cheery, 
but  Maggie  discerned  a  neglected  air  that  told 
the  failure  of  love's  interested  hand  in  the  daily 
touch  of  household  arrangements. 

They  went  up  to  a  large  front  room,  where 
the  girl  was  tossing  uneasily  in  the  midst  of  a 
pile  of  light  coverings. 

"  They  pile  blankets  all  over  me ;  I  'm 
choked,"  she  muttered,  throwing  herself  back 
among  the  pillows  and  casting  a  defiant  glance 
from  the  doctor  to  Maggie,  who  followed  him. 

Mrs.  Ripley  immediately  turned  and  came 
towards  her,  her  face  lighting  with  a  sense  of 
relief.  Her  eyes  had  a  terrified,  distressed  look 
about  them.  She  was  worn  with  the  care  of  the 
capricious  child,  and  anxiously  awaiting  direc- 
tion from  the  absent  husband. 

"  Take  your  hat  right  off.  I  am  so  glad  to 
see  you." 

"  Well  I  a'n't,  then,"  muttered  the  child. 

"  Why  not,  Puss  ?"  The  doctor's  eyes  twin- 
kled. 

"  She 's  white  ;  she  wont  mind  me." 

Maggie  came  forward.  "Don't  you  like 
white  nurses?" 


THE  FEVER.  409 

"  No.  I  can't  make  them  mind  worth  a 
cent." 

"  They  can  make  you  mind  ;  that  will  be  bet- 
ter." 

"  Well  turned !"  The  doctor  laughed,  while 
Miss  Puss  stared  in  blank  amazement.  The 
case  had  never  been  presented  in  this  light. 

"  Can't  I  get  up,  doctor  ?    I  'm  better." 

"  Not  to-day,  unless  you  are  anxious  for  a  re- 
lapse." 

"What's  that?" 

"  More  of  yesterday's  pains — and  harder." 

"  I  hate  the  bed.  I  wish  papa  was  at  home. 
Mamma  cries  all  the  time.  Chloe's  a  cross 
thing." 

"  Well,  be  good  to-day  ;  to-morrow  we  11  see." 

He  gave  his  directions  and  Maggie  began  a 
short  sharp  work,  preparatory  to  the  more  se- 
rious labor  that  awaited  her.  At  first  she  took 
no  notice  of  the  child,  but  went  about  the  room 
with  skilful  hand  and  practised  eye,  arranging 
every  article  in  perfect  order,  answering  quick- 
ly Mrs.  Ripley's  questions  and  replying  hope- 
fully and  soothingly  to  her  fears  and  complaints, 
knowing  that  the  glittering  eyes  of  Puss  were 
following  every  movement. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Ripley,  will  you  go  and  rest, 
and  leave  Puss  in  my  care  ?  We  shall  get  along 
nicely  together." 


410  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

"She  sha'n't  go.  I  wont  stay  alone  with 
you." 

"Go  right  along,  please.  I  will  make  her 
happy." 

With  a  look  of  distress  the  mother  left  them 
together. 

"  I  wont  mind  you.    You  sha*  n't  touch  me." 

"No?  Well,  never  mind.  We'll  fix  the 
room  prettily." 

She  moved  about,  singing  in  a  low  tone 
snatches  of  bright  song,  apparently  taking  no 
notice  of  her  patient.  Chloe's  turbaned  head 
was  pushed  within  the  door. 

"  Would  missy  hab  some  coffee,  to  stay  de 
stummic  a  bit?  Dat  chile  am  drefful  wearin'." 

"  Get  out,  Chloe !" 

"Yes,  Chloe,  you  may  bring  me  some,  and 
a  few  flowers.  I  saw  lovely  ones  as  we  drove 
in." 

"  What  you  want  o'  them  ?" 

"I  want  them  for  you,  dear,  to  make  you 
happy." 

"  I  can't  be  happy." 

"Why  not?" 

"'Cause  papa  aren't  here,  and  mamma's  just 
a  cry-baby." 

"  Then  do  n't  try  for  your  own  happiness ;  do 
all  you  can  to  make  mamma  happy  before  your 
father  gets  here.  That  will  be  a  grand  surprise 


THE  FEVER.  411 

to  him.  How  proud  he  would  be  of  his  Puss. 
Here  are  the  flowers.  Thank  you,  Chloe." 

The  old  negress  had  gathered  a  huge  bunch 
of  the  largest,  brightest  blossoms  to  be  found, 
and  stood  delighted  at  the  change  already  ap- 
parent in  the  room,  smiling  upon  "  datbad  chile  " 
in  a  most  loving  way. 

"  Hurry  up,  Chloe,  and  get  the  coffee ;  I  want 
some  too." 

"  Merciful  hebbens !  De  doctor  'd  be  mighty 
p'voked  when  he  fin'  out  dat  ar." 

"Yes,  Chloe,  you  may  bring  a  cup  for  Puss ; 
a  little  wont  hurt  her." 

"  Den  I  will,  for  certain,  if  yo'  tak  der  'spon- 
sibility." 

"  Now,  Puss,  the  flowers  look  lovely  to  me. 
Do  you  like  them  ?" 

She  nodded.  There  was  nothing  in  nature 
she  loved  more. 

"  They  are  God's  handiwork,  bright  and 
sweet ;  and  I  must  make  my  little  patient  as 
sweet  as  the  flowers  before  mamma  wakes. 
We  '11  have  the  bed  all  fresh  and  nice,  and  fix 
you  up  as  dainty  as  the  flowers." 

"  Take  off  the  blankets ;  mamma  piles  'em 
on." 

"  Yes,  we  '11  keep  only  one." 

Deftly  and  with  a  peculiar  tact  Maggie 
bathed  and  robed  her  freshly,  brushed  carefully 


412  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

the  abundant  hair,  rearranged  the  bed,  shut  out 
the  light  that  glared  upon  her  face,  and  admitted 
a  ray  where  the  reflection  would  soothe  and  not 
irritate,  then  sat  down  waiting  for  the  coffee. 

"Do  you  feel  better,  Puss?" 

"  My  back  aches,  and  I  'm  tired,  but  I  do  n't 
feel  ugly  now." 

"  Poor  child,  a  little  sleep  will  be  better  than 
coffee." 

"  I  do  n't  want  it !     I  want  ice !" 

The  coffee  came ;  Maggie  put  it  aside  and 
ordered  a  dish  of  broken  ice.  She  understood 
the  child's  nervous,  irritable  mood.  Her  object 
was  to  quiet  and  soothe ;  a  pellet  of  ice  was  just 
the  refreshment  her  feverish  tongue  craved. 
"  Oh  how  good  !"  she  murmured,  and  slipped 
her  hand  beneath  her  cheek,  saying, 

"  Now  drink  your  coffee,  nurse.  I  '11  be 
good  and  go  to  sleep." 

For  a  few  hours  the  stillness  of  peace  rested 
upon  the  house.  Maggie  had  conquered  by  pa- 
tient forbearance  and  unruffled  sweetness  of 
manner.  She  herself  had  slept  well  the  night 
before,  but  this  quiet  morning  was  refreshing. 
Had  she  known  it  was  to  be  the  last  for  many 
weeks  she  could  not  have  rested  in  it  more 
entirely. 

Through  the  midday  heat  the  tired  mother 
and  child  slept.  Meantime  the  publication  of 


THE  FEVER.  413 

new  cases  created  a  widespread  panic  through 
the  city.  The  fever  had  assumed  an  epidemic 
form.  Those  who  could  not  flee  were  terror- 
stricken.  Citizens  demanded  that  all  suspected 
houses  should  be  destroyed.  In  some  cases  their 
request  was  complied  with  at  once  ;  all  doubtful 
places  were  searched,  and  most  stringent  meas- 
ures taken  to  check  the  increase  of  the  scourge. 
It  required  real  heroism  for  those  who  remained 
to  go  on  day  by  day  doing  as  best  they  could 
each  task  and  trusting  God  to  live  it  through. 

As  Mrs.  Ripley  and  Maggie  were  leaving  the 
dining-room  the  next  day  a  step  on  the  porch 
startled  them.  They  went  to  the  hall  together. 
Maggie  caught  sight  of  a  worn-looking,  travel- 
stained  pedestrian,  and  heard  a  cry,  "  Frank  !" 
The  husband  and  wife  were  in  each  other's 
arms,  and  Maggie  ran  up  stairs,  sent  Chloe  to 
prepare  refreshment  that  she  knew  he  was  in 
need  of,  and  to  keep  her  patient  quiet  until  it 
was  safe  for  them  to  meet. 

He  had  been  several  months  away  in  the  vi- 
cinity of  the  Indian  River,  and  learning  through 
the  signal  service  of  the  fearful  state  of  affairs  at 
home,  and  fearing  for  his  family,  he  determined 
to  start  at  once,  and  as  the  usual  course  of  travel 
was  interrupted,  he  made  the  greater  part  of  the 
journey  on  foot,  and  reached  them  drenched, 
faint,  and  footsore. 


414  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

Maggie  felt  that  a  weight  had  been  lifted 
from  her.  She  hoped  she  would  not  be  needed 
here  much  longer.  But  in  the  morning  the  doc- 
tor  found  him  in  a  high  fever  and  at  once  took 
him  in  hand.  He  was  anxious.  Coming  again 
in  the  afternoon,  he  immediately  sent  Mrs.  Rip- 
ley  to  take  Maggie's  place  while  she  was  installed 
over  her  first  fever  patient.  His  exhaustion  had 
predisposed  him  to  contagion.  The  yellow  flag 
was  raised.  From  this  time  no  member  of  the 
household  could  appear  on  the  street.  All  sup- 
plies must  come  through  the  orders  of  the  at- 
tending physician.  Anguish  and  fear  triumphed ; 
Puss  had  no  words  of  defiance  now.  She  pressed 
her  hand  upon  her  mouth  that  her  cry  might 
not  wring  her  mother's  breaking  heart. 

It  was  a  terrible  experience  for  Maggie.  Her 
powers  were  taxed  to  their  limit.  She  was  alone, 
only  as  the  doctor  came  when  he  could  leave 
other  cases.  From  the  first  her  patient's  ex- 
hausted state  was  against  him.  The  second  day 
he  became  delirious,  his  temperature  rose  rap- 
idly, and  in  a  few  hours  all  was  over. 

It  was  but  a  single  scene  of  that  dreadful 
day,  but  one  home-picture  of  many  that  made 
up  the  record  of  that  never-to-be-forgotten  Black 
Friday. 


NEW   HOMES.  415 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

NEW   HOMES. 

Miss  BRAINARD  rested  a  few  days  with  her 
sister  before  opening  her  own  house.  They 
were  all  roused  by  her  active  spirit  and  her  stir- 
ring tales  of  life  at  the  South.  The  brother's 
affairs  were  rehearsed,  Maggie's  unfortunate  de- 
tention referred  to  daily  with  increasing  anxi- 
ety, and  Barbara's  affairs  talked  over  with  great 
tenderness  when  the  girls  were  away  from  the 
house,  as  occurred  daily  for  a  few  hours  of  walk- 
ing or  in  the  use  of  the  bicycle,  which  they  still 
greatly  enjoyed. 

Barbara  had  regained  in  a  measure  the 
bright,  hopeful  temperament  natural  to  her,  and 
now  thought  the  time  had  come  for  her  to  make 
some  changes  in  her  affairs.  Mrs.  Hamlin's  fam- 
ily was  large  enough  without  her.  The  kind- 
ness she  had  received  was  very  precious  to  her, 
but  she  must  find  something  to  do  that  would 
enable  her  to  pay  a  low  board  in  some  more 
humble  quarter  of  the  city.  She  wished  they 
would  speak  first  and  advise  her  ;  but  they  were 
so  absorbed  in  Miss  Brainard  and  so  troubled 
about  Maggie  they  seemed  to  have  forgotten 


416  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

that  she  did  not  belong  there  and  ought  not  to 
stay.  She  felt  shy  about  pushing  her  own  insig- 
nificant affairs  in  their  way.  She  wanted  them 
to  know  how  sincerely  grateful  she  was.  She 
feared  they  would  think  her  cold  and  unappreci- 
ative,  so  different  from  Dot — fond  of  quiet  cor- 
ners and  out-of-the-way  places,  where  she  could 
help  Becky  perhaps  and  be  overlooked  and  un- 
noticed— that  it  was  not  strange  they  should  for- 
get that  she  must  have  a  sensitiveness  in  regard 
to  her  position  that  was  growing  more  and  more 
painful. 

But  Miss  Clarissa  had  eyes  for  every  one. 
They  were  sharp  enough  to  discern  the  troubled 
waters  of  the  orphan's  heart.  One  forenoon, 
while  the  three  girls  were  away,  she  entered 
the  sewing-room,  where  her  sister  was  advising 
with  Becky  about  Dot's  necessities. 

"  Dolly,  how  about  little  Barbara  ?  We  Ve 
decided  nothing  for  her.  I  see  a  shade  of  anxi- 
ety in  her  face.  We  must  relieve  her  mind  at 
once,  sister." 

"  True.  I  meant  to  have  spoken  to  her  be- 
fore. She  wants  to  support  herself  in  some  way. 
It 's  a  cruel  ncessity." 

"  No  necessity  at  all.  She 's  to  have  a  home 
with  me  if  she  '11  accept  it.  You  knew  that." 

"  She  will  if  you  can  employ  her ;  but  to 
place  her  in  any  home  as  an  ornament  simply 


NEW    HOMES.  417 

would  make  her  wretched ;  she  's  a  busy  little 
body." 

"  I  see.  I  will  propose  that  she  take  Maggie's 
place  for  the  present.  She  loves  Becky  and  will 
naturally  get  a  home-feeling.  I  think,  Becky, 
we  will  go  out  to-morrow  and  throw  the  house 
open  and  settle  ourselves  for  fall  work.  We  will 
invite  Barbara  to  go  along.  It 's  a  lonely  house 
without  young  people." 

"  Here  she  is ;  she  will  speak  for  herself," 
said  Mrs.  Hamlin. 

The  three  girls  came  in  flushed  with  exer- 
cise, looking  inquiringly  to  discover  who  was 
referred  to. 

"  Barbara,  come  here ;  sit  close  beside  me, 
dear  child.  I  Ve  hardly  taken  time  to  notice 
you,  but  I  've  thought  of  you  more  than  once ; 
and  I  want  you  to  do  something  for  my  happi- 
ness. Do  n't  nod  that  willing  little  brown  head 
until  you  hear  what  it  is,  for  you  may  object. 
You  see  how  lonely  I  shall  be  without  Maggie, 
and  it  strikes  me  you  have  nothing  to  do  but  to 
fill  her  place,  if  you  will.  To-morrow  we  are 
going  to  open  the  house.  Will  you  help  us? 
Becky  could  hardly  get  along  without  you  now, 
and  you  may  have  the  whole  country  to  roam  in 
and  copy  every  flower  you  see.  What  do  you 
say  ?" 

She  slipped  a  little  hand  shyly  into  Miss 

What  OIrl»C»n  Do.  27 


41 8  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

Brainard's  firm  clasp.  "  I  've  been  thinking  it 
is  time  to  get  some  work  that  will  support  me. 
Don't  you  think  so,  Mrs.  Hamlin?"  turning  a 
flushed,  puzzled  face  towards  her. 

"  This  will  support  you,  child.  Maggie  and 
I  have  talked  it  all  over.  She  will  seldom  be 
with  me  now  for  any  length  of  time.  Her  work 
absorbs  her  and  these  new  relatives  claim  her. 
Becky  and  I  cannot  live  alone.  I  told  Maggie 
I  should  win  you  to  take  her  place.  You  shall 
be  my  little  companion.  Paint  all  you  like ; 
have  your  studio  and  room  and  be  useful  and 
happy.  I  '11  do  nothing  but  pay  the  bills,  ma- 
king, you  see,  a  very  easy  life  for  me.  What  do 
you  say,  child  ?" 

"  What  can  I  say  ?  Oh,  Mrs.  Hamlin,  what 
ought  I  to  do  ?" 

"Just  what  your  heart  prompts.  You  can 
make  sister  and  Becky  very  happy ;  and,  my 
child,  although  you  can  earn  a  fair  amount  with 
your  brush,  it  might  be  a  very  precarious  living. 
I  think  your  father  would  like  you  to  accept  the 
home,  and  you  would  be  safe  and  happy  there." 

"  Oh  so  happy !"  A  laugh  trembled  on  the 
lips  and  gleamed  through  the  tears.  "  How  can 
I  repay  you  for  so  much  ?  I  receive  all  and  give 
nothing." 

"  No,  indeed.  You  give  me  a  bright,  happy 
home,  and  that  is  worth  more  than  money.  So 


NEW   HOMES.  419 

• 

we  start  to-morrow.  The  girls  will  help  you 
pack  your  trunks,  and  after  we  get  settled  and 
our  preserving,  pickling,  and  the  like  all  done, 
with  our  brave  Maggie  back,  we  '11  have  the 
friends  out  to  a  good  old-fashioned  house-warm- 
ing. How  many  trunks?" 

"Only  one — a  little  one,  Miss  Brainard." 
Barbara  seemed  to  think  the  question  ludicrous. 

"  Call  me  auntie,  as  the  others  do.  We  '11  go 
out  this  afternoon  and  get  another  and  fill  it 
for  winter.  Our  winters  are  none  too  warm, 
and  I  like  to  take  old  Time  by  the  forelock.  So 
be  ready  soon  after  lunch.  Will  you  go,  Clare  ? 
You  know  what  is  worn  better  than  I  do." 

It  was  easy  for  the  maiden  aunt  to  decide 
matters  for  them  all.  They  seldom  rebelled 
against  her  wise  common  sense  and  liberal 
spirit.  Now  indeed  the  orphan's  heart  was  at 
rest.  Every  weight  was  lifted.  She  had  trust- 
ed in  the  Father  of  the  fatherless,  and  his  bless- 
ings had  been  poured  out  upon  the  barrenness 
of  her  life  more  abundantly  than  she  could  have 
hoped. 

This  arrangement  settled  to  the  entire  satis- 
faction of  both  parties,  Miss  Clarissa  relieved 
her  anxieties  in  regard  to  Maggie  by  writing  to 
Dr.  Kent,  telling  him  the  whole  story  without 
reserve,  but  begging  him  not  to  divulge  it  to  the 
friends  there.  It  was  not  best  to  give  them 


42O  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

new  causes  for  fear  and  disturbance.  That  they 
were  not  alarmed  in  regard  to  the  fever  she  was 
assured.  Being  off  the  line  of  travel,  she  knew 
they  considered  themselves  comparatively  safe. 
If  the  doctor  should  go  to  Jacksonville  she  hoped 
he  would  see  that  Maggie  was  not  unnecessarily 
exposed.  She  confided  to  him  her  fears  and 
asked  his  opinion  regarding  the  risk  Maggie 
had  subjected  herself  to. 

In  reply  he  wrote  that  her  tidings  had  filled 
him  with  surprise  and  alarm.  He  had  intended 
to  offer  himself.  Thus  far  his  mother  had  re- 
strained him.  But  this  decided  him.  He  would 
go  at  once  and  do  what  he  could.  He  would 
search  Maggie  out,  watch  over  her,  and  send 
her  North  as  soon  as  the  way  opened.  If  she 
could  be  constrained  to  go  immediately  from 
the  city  he  would  be  glad,  and  by  no  means  in- 
form the  friends  of  her  danger.  She  should 
hear  again  as  soon  as  he  had  reached  her.  This 
letter  relieved  Miss  Brainard  of  much  uneasi- 
ness. Each  mail  was  impatiently  awaited  and 
eagerly  scanned.  Fumigated  letters  reached 
them  every  few  days,  always  bright  and  hopeful. 

Barbara  and  Clare  spent  an  hour  with  Mrs. 
Ellis  after  the  shopping  expedition,  telling  her 
of  the  new  plans.  No  mother  could  be  more 
interested  than  the  invalid  as  the  girls  clustered 
round  her  great  comfortable  chair;  and  while 


NEW  HOMES.  421 

she  listened  to  Barbara's  good  fortune  her  face 
beamed  kindly  upon  the  young  girl  who  had  so 
appealed  to  her  sympathy  by  this  late  bereave- 
ment. 

From  there  they  went  to  share  the  news  with 
Nellie  and  Etta.  Barbara  and  Hale  were  still 
rare  friends.  The  little  fellow  was  old  enough 
now  to  attend  school,  a  real  grief  to  his  devoted 
sister,  who  would  have  kept  him  with  her  and 
under  her  instruction  indefinitely. 

"As  soon  as  Maggie  gets  back  auntie  is  to 
give  a  family  party  and  you  are  all  to  be  there, 
and  then  Bab  will  be  in  town  often.  Oh  we 
shall  not  be  long  apart." 

"  It 's  a  lovely  arrangement,"  said  Nellie, 
and  they  all  echoed  her  decision. 

There  was  one  more  call  to  make  before  Bar- 
bara should  leave  town.  It  must  be  made  in 
the  school,  for  she  had  never  learned  where 
Miss  Gray  hid  herself.  "  And  there  will  be  just 
time  before  she  leaves  for  home." 

They  went  together.  The  good  news  was 
repeated  to  a  most  sympathetic  listener.  Bar- 
bara's few  friends  rejoiced  with  her.  Her  quiet, 
glad  peace  had  a  restful  atmosphere  about  it. 

The  next  day  witnessed  Barbara's  introduc- 
tion to  her  new  home.  Miss  Brainard  took  her 
into  every  room.  It  was  a  large  old-fashioned, 
well-constructed  house,  carefully  kept,  and  was 


422  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

still  in  excellent  condition.  The  massive  oaken 
front  door  was  cut  through  the  middle  to  be 
opened  each  way  into  a  hall  of  generous  dimen- 
sions, from  which  a  broad  staircase  led  to  the 
upper  floors,  its  carven  baluster  of  dark  rich 
mahogany  and  its  heavy  wainscotting  meeting 
upon  the  next  landing  the  tall  antique  clock 
that  had  tolled  off  the  hours  for  Miss  Clarissa's 
grandparents,  and  was  still  ready  to  sing  its  old- 
time  song  in  the  same  true  measure.  Maggie's 
room  looked  from  the  east  upon  the  distant  river. 
It  was  not  to  be  disturbed,  but  kept  ready  for 
her,  come  when  she  might. 

"You  may  have  a  choice,  Barbara,  between 
this  one  over  the  living-room  and  looking  into 
the  garden,  and  the  front  room  facing  the  street. 
This  little  one  over  the  hall  is  for  your  studio, 
and  you  may  furnish  it  as  you  please.  It  has  a 
north  outlook,  and  I  believe  that  is  what  artists 
like." 

There  were  several  guest-rooms,  all  with  the 
quaint  ancient  furnishings  that  charmed  Bar- 
bara's artist-eye.  She  decided  upon  the  east 
room.  The  garden  attracted  her,  and  it  may  be 
its  proximity  to  Becky's  was  a  factor  in  her  de- 
cision, for  she  had  a  very  tender  feeling  towards 
the  old  Scotch  woman. 

"  And  now,  my  child,  go  anywhere,  look  into 
everything,  get  a  home-feeling  as  soon  as  you 


NEW   HOMES.  423 

can,  and  if  you  have  anything  that  you  used  to 
enjoy  and  would  like  in  your  rooms,  we  will 
send  and  have  it  brought  as  soon  as  you  decide." 

How  thoughtful  and  kind  she  could  be  !  Bar- 
bara was  overwhelmed.  There  was  much  still 
to  live  for. 

Meantime  Uncle  Eric  had  confided  to  his  sis- 
ter-in-law certain  hopes  he  had  for  a  long  time 
secretly  cherished.  Would  she  give  him  "  God- 
speed"? 

"  Most  gladly,  Eric.  Is  it  indeed  so  ?  Noth- 
ing could  be  more  charming.  You  have  my 
best  wishes.  I  am  sure  you  cannot  fail.  I  ad- 
mire her  greatly,  and  our  girls  love  her  as  well  as 
they  do  you.  Ah  yes,  nothing  could  be  better." 
With  her  encouraging  words  ringing  in  his 
ears  and  mingling  with  a  voice  beloved  never 
absent  from  his  heart,  he  walked  through  the 
moonlight  towards  Miss  Gray's  humble  home, 
determined  now  to  win  or  lose  her.  She  had 
spent  a  busy  day ;  teaching  was  growing  more 
irksome.  Her  incentive  to  work  had  been  re- 
moved ;  there  was  no  satisfaction  in  laboring  for 
herself.  She  knew  her  old  nurse  could  earn 
without  her  far  more  than  she  could  give  her ; 
and  life  stretched  out  way  beyond,  as  far  as  she 
could  see,  like  an  endless,  glaring,  dusty  high- 
way before  a  worn-out  traveller.  Now,  seated 
in  a  large  chair,  with  the  moonlight  shedding 


424  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

its  soft  radiance  over  her,  she  rested.  The  low, 
monotonous  humming  of  the  old  nurse  reached 
her  from  the  farther  room  and  pleasant  memo- 
ries of  Jack  and  the  girls  dear  to  her  mingled 
with  her  shrinking  from  the  cares  of  life. 

A  step  on  the  stair  and  a  low  knock  roused 
her  from  the  revery.  She  looked  up  ;  the  smile 
that  greeted  him  was  very  pleasant  to  the  mas- 
ter. "  Mr.  Hamlin !  Come  in  ;  I  'm  glad  to  see 
you." 

"  I  was  not  quite  sure  of  a  welcome ;  but 
nothing  venture,  you  know,"  he  said  with  a 
quiet  laugh. 

"  Not  sure  of  a  welcome  ?  You  cannot  think 
me  so  ungrateful  ?"  she  answered. 

"There  is  no  call  for  gratitude,  Miss  Gray, 
and  you  have  been  very  shy,  even  to  your 
friends— but  I  think  you  trust  me  now." 

"  Entirely ;  how  could  I  help  it  ?  Excuse 
me,  I  will  get  a  lamp." 

"  No,  Miss  Gray,  sit  here  in  the  moonlight ; 
I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

"  Of  Jack  ?"  she  asked  with  animation. 

"  Not  of  Jack  this  time,  of  myself — if  I  may." 

Thus  in  the  upper  room,  with  the  bright 
moonbeams  revealing  all  the  deep  emotions  por- 
trayed upon  her  beautiful  face,  the  master  won 
her  love  and  her  consent  to  be  his  bride. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  home  was  made. 


NEW   HOMES.  425 

not  long  before  the  pale  face  bloomed  again 
with  the  delicately  tinted  roses  of  her  earlier 
youth.  It  was  a  quiet  wedding  in  early  evening 
in  the  church  where  for  years  the  master  had 
sat  with  his  brother's  family.  Only  the  near 
friends  were  present.  Aunt  Clarissa  and  Bar- 
bara came  in.  The  bride  was  in  travelling 
dress,  and  after  the  ceremony  they  went  away 
for  a  few  weeks,  it  having  been  arranged  that 
nurse  should  be  installed  in  the  new  home  and 
ready  to  welcome  them  on  their  return. 

The  bride  was  warmly  congratulated  by  the 
few  who  had  welcomed  her  to  their  circle. 
Among  those  most  valued  were  Mrs.  Ellis  and 
Jack,  who  still  called  the  master's  wife  his  deliv- 
erer from  the  evil  that  came  so  near  crowding 
out  all  goodness  and  ruining  for  ever  his  better 
nature. 


426  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

THE   PLAGUE-STRICKEN  CITY. 

OUR  whole  nation  shared  in  the  terrible  visi- 
tation upon  the  fair  land  of  flowers,  the  beautiful 
sunny  South.  Throughout  the  vast  country  the 
thrilling  tidings  were  eagerly  sought  and  griev- 
ously deplored,  and  yet  no  pen  could  reveal  to 
the  millions  who  scanned  the  daily  news  the 
terrible  reality;  none  outside  the  doomed  city 
could  comprehend  its  condition — the  sickening 
dread  of  those  compelled  to  remain,  looking 
death  steadily  in  the  face  four  dreary  months, 
watching  as  day  after  day  husband  or  wife, 
father,  mother,  or  child  sickened  and  died  be- 
fore their  eyes  and  were  buried  from  their  sight. 

Within  the  city,  confined  by  stern  necessity, 
were  sixteen  thousand  souls,  more  than  three- 
fourths  of  these  without  employment  or  re- 
source, from  the  utter  demoralization  of  busi- 
ness and  the  flight  of  employers. 

Hotels,  restaurants,  bakeries  were  closed. 
Markets  were  empty ;  farmers  and  producers 
feared  to  approach  with  supplies.  Terrible  de- 
privation was  imminent.  Provisions  were  al- 
most unobtainable.  Families  who  had  never 


THE  PLAGUE-STRICKEN  CITY.  427 

known  the  sensation  of  hunger  were  found  to 
be  in  actual  need,  denying  themselves  in  coura- 
geous silence  that  the  sick  might  be  first  re- 
lieved. Over  six  thousand  people  were  to  be 
fed  daily.  Rations  must  be  given  out  sufficient 
for  the  week  by  the  district  physician's  order, 
each  case  carefully  investigated.  The  Auxiliary 
Sanitary  Association  performed  unparalleled  la- 
bor. It  would  be  impossible  to  estimate  the 
amount  of  benefit  coming  to  the  sufferers 
through  this  source,  so  freely,  nobly,  and  gratu- 
itously rendered. 

The  necessities  of  those  remaining  in  the 
city,  surrounded  as  they  were  by  contagion,  sick- 
ness, and  death,  must  be  supplied,  their  daily 
needs  met,  or  order  and  safety  could  not  be 
maintained.  Money  must  be  raised  to  provide 
work  for  strong  idle  men,  for  all  able  to  labor, 
and  food  for  others ;  funds  for  the  care  of  the 
sick,  for  hospitals,  physicians,  and  nurses. 

Until  they  were  actually  obliged  to  accept, 
the  citizens  nobly  declined  the  charity  freely 
offered  by  the  nation.  But  as  the  pestilence 
spread,  as  their  needs  increased,  and  danger  to 
the  surrounding  country  magnified,  they  found 
it  impossible  to  cope  with  the  enemy  alone ; 
and  from  that  time  money  and  supplies  flowed 
into  their  hands  without  stint. 

This  little  company  forming  the  relief  corps, 


428  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

who  shut  themselves  away  from  hope  and  safety, 
were  inspired  with  the  same  courage  that  im- 
pels the  soldier  to  face  death  for  his  country  and 
home.  Maggie  remained  with  Mrs.  Ripley  until 
after  the  burial  of  her  husband.  Now  all  was 
over,  and  she  found  it  nearly  impossible  to  sep- 
arate herself  from  them.  Puss  clung  to  her 
with  screams  of  nervous  terror.  The  mother 
pleaded  with  the  doctor  to  urge  her  to  remain. 
The  old  negress  besought  her  to  stay.  Her 
heart  was  torn  with  conflicting  emotions.  She 
would  gladly,  in  their  loss  and  fright,  have  given 
herself  to  them,  had  she  been  able.  She  placed 
before  them  the  needs  of  the  sick  and  dying, 
the  scarcity  of  nurses,  and  her  own  strong  im- 
pulse to  help  in  this  terrible  crisis.  She  had 
already  been  with  them  longer  than  she  ought. 
She  must  take  up  the  work  now ;  and  turning  to 
the  doctor,  her  sensitive  face  betraying  the  emo- 
tion called  up  by  their  pitiful  dependence  upon 
her,  she  begged  him  to  set  her  at  work. 

And  now  indeed  her  work  began  in  earnest. 
Patient  after  patient  passed  under  her  care.  At 
one  time  three  in  one  family  needed  her  ser- 
vices. Many  recovered ;  some  died  with  a  sud- 
denness that  appalled  her.  The  doctor,  know- 
that  she  was  unacclimated,  gave  her  the  mildest 
cases;  not  that  there  was  less  fear  from  con- 
tagion, but  that  the  labor  was  lighter  and  anxiety 


THE  PLAGUE-STRICKEN   CITY.  429 

less.  But  there  came  a  time  when  there  was 
little  chance  to  select,  when  the  dread  visitant 
marched  on  with  fearful  strides,  when  physi- 
cians and  nurses  were  worn  down  with  extra 
work.  New  cases  appeared  daily,  and  there  was 
scarce  breathing  space  for  those  who  strove  to 
conquer  in  this  hand-to-hand  conflict. 

Maggie's  courage  never  faltered.  She 
learned  quickly  to  note  the  different  forms  of 
the  disease,  to  distinguish  when  a  stimulant  was 
needed,  cooling  drinks  to  allay  fever,  or  bits  of 
broken  ice  to  assuage  thirst.  She  inspired  her 
patients  with  the  courage  that  possessed  her  own 
brave  spirit.  She  suffered  in  their  agony,  would 
have  borne  their  pain  if  she  could.  Her  minis- 
trations were  unremitting. 

In  one  case  friends  despaired  and  physicians 
were  doubtful.  The  almost  hopeless  state  pre- 
ceding sudden  death  had  been  reached.  Through 
it  all  Maggie's  faith  held  firm.  Thirty-six  hours 
her  watch  continued ;  her  efforts  never  ceased 
until  she  had  battled  with  every  progressive 
stage  of  the  disease  and  conquered  each.  They 
watched  her  in  hopeless  amazement.  It  seemed 
to  them  like  working  over  the  dead.  The  con- 
vulsive agony  subsided,  the  pain  was  checked, 
the  raging  fever  abated,  the  sudden  chill  was 
prevented,  the  temperature  and  pulse  gradually 
assumed  a  nearly  normal  condition,  the  flush 


430  WHAT  GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

of  the  face  passed  slowly  off,  the  bloodshot  eyes 
held  a  more  natural  look.  The  fearful  danger 
was  nearly  over,  and  Maggie  felt  a  sense  of  tri- 
umph mingled  with  a  childlike  faith  in  her  Fa- 
ther's power  to  save.  She  held  out  until  as- 
sured of  her  patient's  safety,  then  her  energy 
disappeared.  Her  charge  was  given  into  safe 
hands,  and  exhausted  she  sought  rest.  A  quick 
tepid  bath,  a  tumbler  of  hot  lemonade,  and  sleep 
— life-giving  sleep,  a  whole  day  and  night  of  it — 
restored  her.  The  radiant  spirit  of  perfect 
health  triumphed,  and  she  came  again  to  the 
front,  the  bloom  of  her  cheek  less  brilliant,  the 
tall  strong  frame  slighter  than  before,  but  as 
ready  for  work  as  ever. 

It  was  at  this  crisis  that  Aunt  Clarissa's  letter 
reached  Dr.  Kent.  He  had  secretly  chafed  at 
being  held  by  ties  he  could  not  rupture  without 
seeming  cruelty.  This  letter  turned  the  scale 
in  favor  of  the  work.  His  wife  and  mother 
must  give  him  up,  call  up  all  the  courage  they 
possessed  and  trust  him  to  the  care  of  the  mighty 
One.  He  pledged  himself  to  caution,  but  go  he 
must.  Had  they  known  the  presence  of  Maggie 
in  that  city  of  destruction,  no  power  would  have 
kept  Ned  back.  He  would  have  gone  with  the 
doctor  and  offered  himself  as  nurse  had  not  all 
the  forces  of  home  and  neighborhood  held  him  ; 
but  the  doctor  guarded  his  secret  closely. 


THE   PLAGUE-STRICKEN  CITY.  43! 

He  was  warmly  welcomed  by  the  overtaxed 
physicians,  and  at  once  assigned  a  district.  His 
first  work,  however,  was  to  search  out  his  cousin. 
A  few  inquiries  brought  the  reply, 

"  Ah  you  mean  Nurse  Maggie,  Miss  Doane ; 
she  's  doing  splendid  work.  She 's  at  St.  Luke's 
now." 

"  I  must  see  her ;  then  I  am  ready." 

They  met  in  the  ward.  For  a  moment  she 
fixed  her  large  dark  eyes  upon  him  as  though  in 
doubtful  uncertainty,  as  though  her  vision  mis- 
led her.  Then  her  whole  countenance  bright- 
ened, her  eyes  looking  into  his  with  such  a  glad 
light  of  welcome  that  his  fears  vanished.  He 
said  to  himself,  "It  is  God's  own  work.  He  has 
set  her  in  a  high  place.  What  am  I  that  I 
should  question  it?" 

From  that  hour  he  took  up  the  task  that  fell 
to  him  with  an  ardor  equal  to  her  own.  Every 
evening  they  met  and  compared  notes;  every 
evening  letters  went  North  and  South,  his  friends 
still  being  kept  in  ignorance  of  her  presence 
there.  She  was  isolated  no  longer;  a  friend 
stood  by  her  side.  He  understood  her  nature  ; 
he  sympathized  in  her  enthusiasm ;  there  was 
the  same  high  principle  inspiring  both,  the 
same  self-renunciation,  the  same  impulse  to  con- 
quer in  this  frightful  battle,  even  though  life 
itself  must  be  sacrificed. 


432  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

That  the  rate  of  deaths  was  eventually  so 
small,  compared  with  the  number  of  sick,  was 
not  altogether  owing  to  the  mildness  of  the 
fever,  but  largely  to  the  increasingly  watchful 
care  the  patients  received  and  to  the  sanitary 
regulations  strictly  enforced.  The  daily  inspec- 
tion of  houses  was  persevered  in,  the  cleansing 
and  purifying  of  all  doubtful  places  in  and  about 
the  city.  Several  hundred  men  were  employed 
in  this  work,  their  wages  securing  for  themselves 
and  their  families  a  comfortable  support. 

There  were  many  noble  acts  of  unrecorded 
heroism  among  the  blacks.  They  manifested 
no  hesitation  in  visiting  the  sick,  watching  or 
nursing  the  most  malignant  cases  without  fear 
of  danger,  caring  for  and  burying  the  dead, 
guarding  the  deserted  homes  and  property  of 
those  who  had  fled.  They  seemed  impelled  by 
a  high  sense  of  duty  and  a  Christlike  spirit. 

Fruit  was  a  necessity  to  the  convalescents, 
the  Northern  apple  as  grateful  to  them  as  the 
golden  orange ;  and  when  seventy-three  barrels 
were  distributed  at  one  time  their  gratitude  was 
pleasant  to  witness. 

Each  day  pitiable  cases  were  presented  to  the 
commissioners,  sometimess  too  late  for  relief. 
In  South  Jacksonville  the  spread  of  the  fever 
filled  the  residents  with  renewed  terror.  Many 
moved  away  or  camped  in  the  adjacent  woods. 


THE  PLAGUE-STRICKEN  CITY.  433 

At  last  the  days  were  growing  cooler ;  there 
was  more  activity  on  the  streets;  men's  faces 
were  less  gloomy ;  the  fever  was  decreasing,  and 
the  hope  of  frost  brought  with  it  a  brighter  out- 
look. Maggie  began  to  anticipate  the  homeward 
journey ;  she  would  soon  be  free  to  drop  her 
work.  Then  a  few  days  of  quarantine  and  she 
would  be  in  the  midst  of  friends  eager  to  wel- 
come her  home.  Now  she  was  to  have  a  whole 
long  night's  rest.  For  once  she  found  time  to 
think  of  herself ;  she  realized  her  need  of  rest, 
that  she  was  worn  down  and  had  lost  ground 
the  last  few  weeks.  She  hoped  it  was  only  fa- 
tigue, and  that  sleep  in  large  doses  would  con- 
quer it.  Her  substitute  was  on  hand,  fresh  and 
willing,  when  notice  was  brought  her  that  a  col- 
ored girl  waited  outside  to  see  her.  Going  to  the 
door,  she  found  Chloe's  daughter  Julie. 

"Oh,  Miss  Maggie,  they've  sent  for  you! 
Come  quick  ;  the  missus  got  the  fever.  Puss  do 
go  on  crazy-like." 

"  Mrs.  Ripley  sick  !     Wait,  I  will  go." 

She  reported  to  the  matron,  hastily  prepared 
herself,  called  a  carriage,  and  went  with  the  girl. 
She  had  forgotten  her  need  of  sleep ;  but  as  she 
leaned  back  the  old  sense  of  languor  returned. 
What  could  it  mean  ?  She  would  not  yield  to  it. 
She  gathered  together  her  waning  energies,  put 
away  the  thought  of  weariness,  lifted  one  short 

What  Oirli  Can  Do  2& 


434  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

prayer  for  strength  to  hold  out  to  the  end,  and 
pressed  on.  Her  courage  was  renewed,  her 
determination  strengthened.  She  felt  almost 
equal  to  the  effort. 

To  Julie  there  was  salvation  in  her  touch ; 
wondrous  stories  of  her  endurance,  her  persis- 
tent efforts  and  almost  unvarying  success,  had 
given  to  the  imaginative  colored  people  a  faith 
in  Nurse  Maggie  that  was  the  result  of  their 
easily  aroused  superstitions.  She  found  the 
physician  there,  glad  to  see  her,  Puss  in  the 
room  stubbornly  resisting  every  effort  to  remove 
her,  and  Mrs.  Ripley  suffering  greatly.  She 
knew  what  to  do  and  went  to  work  at  once. 
The  sick  woman  could  only  look  the  gratitude 
she  felt,  and  Maggie  was  repaid.  But  for  the 
first  time  in  her  work  Maggie  feared  to  be  'ione 
with  the  patient.  Chloe  was  to  remain  in  an 
adjoining  room. 

After  the  first  hours  of  the  night  Maggie's 
courage  waned.  She  seemed  to  have  so  little  to 
work  upon.  Mrs.  Ripley's  grief  had  left  no  re- 
serve force.  The  disease  met  no  barrier  to  re- 
sist its  course.  She  was  like  a  wilted  flower;  a 
breath  would  scatter  every  petal. 

Maggie  labored  almost  hopelessly ;  she  felt 
her  own  endurance  giving  way,  her  strength 
failing.  But  though  stricken  down  she  could 
not  abate  her  fervor.  Mrs.  Ripley's  attack  had 


THE  PLAGUE-STRICKEN  CITY.  435 

been  sudden  and  found  a  ready  victim ;  loss  of 
appetite  long  indulged,  the  languor  of  days  when 
grief  mastered  her,  all  the  weakening  influences 
of  this  dark  experience,  overcame  her  and  sapped 
the  slight  power  of  resistance ;  and  to  Maggie 
the  case  looked  hopeless  from  the  first. 

Graver  symptoms  appeared  towards  morning : 
the  scarce  perceptible  pulse,  the  terrible  cold 
sweats,  convulsive  chills,  the  deathlike  stupor; 
and  Maggie  knew  that  man  was  helpless  to  save. 
Before  daylight  she  despatched  Chloe  for  the 
doctor,  and  renewed  her  unavailing  efforts, 
everything  she  could  think  of  that  might  help. 

In  a  moment  of  relief  the  patient  asked, 

"Shall  I  die?" 

Maggie  looked  pitifully  into  the  eyes  seeking 
hers.  They  held  her,  she  could  not  evade  them. 

"Oh  trust  the  Saviour,  dear!" 

"  I  will,  I  do.     But  my  child !" 

"  Trust  him  for  her  too.  Have  no  fear ;  she 
shall  be  cared  for.  I  will  see  to  it." 

A  look  of  ineffable  satisfaction  appeared  on 
the  face.  Maggie  gave  no  second  thought  to 
this  impulsive  pledge  to  the  dying  mother.  It 
came  to  her  later  in  all  its  force. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  work  she  lost  cour- 
age. She  saw  the  sick  one  slipping  from  her 
grasp ;  she  could  do  absolutely  nothing  to  help 
her.  Every  vestige  of  her  own  strength  was 


43<>  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

leaving  her.  She  felt  strange  chills  creeping 
over  her,  a  tremor  that  sent  a  thrill  of  fear 
through  her,  not  for  herself,  but  that  she  might 
not  hold  out  to  the  last ;  and  she  must  not  fail 
her  friend.  But  she  held  out  bravely  till  the 
doctor  came. 

Mrs.  Ripley  was  unconscious  when  he  ap- 
peared. 

"  This  is  sudden :  her  grief  left  her  no 
chance,"  he  said,  as  he  closely  regarded  the  sick 
woman. 

She  remained  for  a  while  in  this  state,  rally- 
ing at  times  and  speaking  farewell  words  of 
hope,  and  then  all  was  over. 

Maggie  had  kept  up  till  this  moment,  but  now 
gave  way  to  utter  exhaustion  and  sank  down. 

"  I  must  stop,"  she  said ;  "  I  'm  sick,  doctor." 

"  I  think  you  are,"  was  the  grim  reply. 

With  Chloe's  help  he  took  her  to  another 
room.  She  shook  with  chills.  Julie  was  called, 
sent  for  hot  water  and  blankets,  Maggie  herself 
directing  them.  The  doctor  hastened  to  inform 
her  cousin  and  secure  the  best  nurse  on  his  list. 

The  physician  soon  returned  with  plenty  of 
help.  Dr.  Kent  was  there  almost  as  quickly. 
Maggie  was  sure  that  everything  would  go  well 
now,  and  she  gave  herself  up  to  the  inevitable. 

"I  think  it's  only  a  cold,  doctor,"  she  ven- 
tured. 


THE   PLAGUE-STRICKEN  CITY.  437 

"  We  will  hope  so." 

The  chill  had  passed,  a  high  fever  followed, 
and  its  progress  was  rapid.  Unknown  to  her- 
self she  had  repelled  its  subtle  advances  for  some 
days.  It  was  now  upon  her  in  its  full  force.  She 
could  not  longer  resist ;  it  must  run  its  course. 
She  had  fought  bravely  but  was  conquered. 
They  hardly  feared  for  her  at  first,  there  was  so 
much  in  her  favor — life  had  been  so  abundant, 
youth  so  full  of  buoyancy  and  vigor,  her  whole 
physical  and  moral  nature  so  free  from  weak- 
ness, her  courage  so  inspiring,  her  childlike  faith 
so  serene.  But  like  a  bird  shot  on  the  wing  she 
had  fallen.  Tender  hearts  watched  prayerfully, 
gentle  hands  cared  for  her  as  she  went  with 
slow,  reluctant  step  to  the  very  verge  of  the  un- 
seen. The  fever  racked  her  cruelly,  clutching 
every  fibre  of  her  being  with  an  almost  fatal 
grasp.  For  days  they  would  not  yield  one  iota 
of  their  faith  in  her  recovery.  How  could  they 
harbor  a  thought  of  death  in  connection  with 
this  brave  soul,  in  whom  the  glory  of  life  had 
shone  with  such  superabundant  lustre?  Her 
cousin  would  not  leave  her;  he  watched  with 
anxious  care  and  but  half -concealed  fear,  increas- 
ing every  hour. 

How  fast  she  talked!  How  full  of  strange 
fancies  the  disconnected  speech !  How  memory 
returned  to  the  harrowing  scenes  of  her  child- 


438  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

hood,  calling  up  the  terrors  that  had  long  been 
forgotten.  Would  the  bright  young  light  go 
out?  Must  they  watch  her  fade  before  their 
eyes,  with  no  power  to  save  ? 

Dr.  Kent  believed  in  prayer.  He  would 
plead  for  the  life  of  the  young  martyr.  He  would 
not  keep  her  danger  longer  from  her  friends. 
He  felt  his  need  of  their  help.  He  would  con- 
fide in  his  mother.  Her  faith  was  so  triumphant, 
she  lived  so  near  the  mercy-seat,  surely  God 
would  answer  graciously  his  aged  handmaid. 
He  poured  out  his  very  soul  to  the  mother  and 
wife.  He  sent  the  bitter  tidings  North.  It  was 
like  putting  out  the  midday  sun  to  each.  How 
precious  she  had  made  herself  to  all  who  knew 
and  loved  her ! 

The  day  of  the  crisis  came.  Maggie  had 
rallied  enough  to  awaken  a  fresh  hope.  Both 
physicians  were  with  her.  The  nurse  had  never 
ceased  her  efforts.  Everything  had  been  done 
that  human  skill  was  capable  of.  They  waited 
breathlessly  for  the  result.  Delirium  had. sub- 
sided. She  was  still  and  white  as  marble :  the 
black  lashes  contrasted  painfully  with  the  death- 
like appearance  of  the  face.  Gradually  their 
hopes  returned.  Her  eyes  opened  with  a  strange, 
dreamlike  vacancy.  How  feeble  the  awaking ! 
It  was  like  the  first  faint  gasp  of  a  new  life ;  a 
breath  might  blow  it  out.  A  little  stimulant 


THE   PLAGUE-STRICKEN  GITY.  439 

was  given,  by-and-by  a  few  drops  of  nourish- 
ment, and  still  they  waited  until  weary  of  the 
lagging  hours.  They  exchanged  glad  looks  as 
she  weakly  opened  her  eyes  and  recognized  her 
cousin.  A  wan  little  smile  quivered  about  her 
mouth.  He  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it  gently 
without  speaking. 

"  I  shall  live !"  she  whispered. 

"  Yes  indeed ;  we  shall  keep  you."  How  full 
his  heart  was!  His  strong  pleading  had  been 
heard  and  graciously  answered.  His  heart  had 
been  moved  as  the  trees  of  the  wood  are  moved 
with  the  wind.  The  burden  which  had  appa- 
rently rested  upon  him  alone  was  lifting.  The 
reaction  had  begun ;  she  would  live. 

That  night  telegrams  flew  North  and  South 
with  the  glad  news  of  her  safety.  The  next 
morning  found  a  marked  improvement.  She 
welcomed  her  cousin  with  a  bright  smile. 

"Yellow  as  an  orange,"  he  said,  returning 
her  look. 

"  Oranges  are  good,  cousin." 

"You  shall  have  some  at  once." 

She  looked  pleased.  She  had  not  yet  much 
desire  for  anything. 

At  the  foot  of  the  bed  in  the  shadow  a  little 
figure  crouched.  Dr.  Kent  peered  at  it  with 
surprise  and  disapproval. 

"What's  here,  nurse?" 


440  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

"  It 's  the  child  whose  mother  died  a  few  days 
ago.  She  got  in  last  night ;  no  persuasion  will 
move  her.  I  did  not  care  for  a  scene ;  she 's 
quiet." 

"  But  it 's  unsafe  for  her." 

"  No,  it  is  n't.  I  'm  too  bad  to  die  !  I  wish  I 
could." 

The  high  treble  tones,  full  of  the  pathos  of  a 
child's  grief,  touched  him.  Dr.  Kent  went  to- 
wards her,  looked  pityingly  into  the  eyes  that 
returned  a  half-frightened,  half-defiant  stare. 

"  I  wont  go.  She  '11  die  too !"  she  whispered. 
Maggie  heard  her. 

"  No,  Puss  darling,  I  shall  soon  be  well.  Let 
her  stay,  cousin ;  she 's  no  trouble." 

He  drew  her  to  him  and  took  her  on  his 
knee.  She  made  no  resistance,  searched  his 
face,  then  dropped  her  frowsy  head  upon  his 
breast  and  shook  with  sobs  she  could  not  sup- 
press. 

"  My  little  girlie !"  His  tender  nature  could 
not  bear  such  utter  misery.  "We  shall  have 
you  down  if  this  continues.  Look  here  ;  I  want 
you  to  help  me.  We  '11  get  Miss  Doane  well  in 
no  time  if  you  '11  take  hold  with  us.  Will  you  ?" 

"  I  wish  I  could.     If  she  dies  I  shall  too." 

"  Oh  she  is  better,  only  she  must  n't  be  fret- 
ted by  your  crying.  Now  go  get  some  break- 
fast ;  my  nurses  must  eat  well.  Tell  the  Auntie 


THE   PLAGUE-STRICKEN   CITY.  441 

to  give  you  a  cup  of  coffee  and  an  egg;  then 
make  your  hair  look  nice  and  come  back.  I  '11 
give  you  something  to  do." 

"  You  wont  go  ?" 

"  Not  a  bit  till  I  see  you  hard  at  work.  Bring 
a  few  flowers."  She  smiled  and  nodded  ;  a  little 
ray  of  light  flickered  over  the  haggard  face  as 
she  glanced  towards  the  bed  and  slipped  from 
the  room.  A  fragment  of  the  child's  burden 
had  been  lifted. 

Maggie  dropped  into  a  light  sleep  before  she 
returned  ;  everything  looked  more  encouraging. 
The  morning  was  clear  and  cooler — no  mist 
with  its  depressing  influence ;  the  atmosphere 
was  filled  with  life  and  cheer.  Old  Chloe's  heart 
was  lighter,  and  when  Puss  demanded  her  break- 
fast in  gentler  tones  than  her  wont,  Chloe's  voice 
responded  in  more  cheery  measure  than  for 
many  a  day.  She  tempted  the  appetite  of  the 
forlorn  girl  in  every  way  she  was  capable  of,  and 
rejoiced  at  the  slightest  success. 

A  happier-looking  girl  took  the  flowers  to 
the  sick-room  and  stood  before  the  doctor  ready 
for  orders. 

"Can  you  make  good  lemonade?" 

"  Splendid !" 

"  Not  too  sweet." 

"  I  know,"  with  a  comprehensive  nod. 

"  Then  your  work  will  be  to  make  the  cool 


442  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN   DO. 

drink  as  nicely  as  you  can,  get  fresh  flowers 
every  day,  and  prepare  an  orange.  Eat  a  good 
dinner  or  you  wont  be  strong  enough  to  do  all 
I  shall  require." 

She  looked  almost  happy. 

There  was  no  delay  in  the  progress  of  recov- 
ery now  ;  step  by  step  the  changes  came  ;  weak- 
ness was  conquered,  and  slowly  and  surely  health 
came  back.  Before  many  weeks  she  would  pre- 
sent the  same  glowing  embodiment  of  life  as 
before,  and  the  sick-room  was  the  brightest  spot 
in  the  house.  Those  clear  autumn  days,  rich 
in  the  golden  rays  of  a  Southern  sun,  bright 
with  the  crisp  sparkle  of  the  frosty,  invigora- 
ting air,  did  more  for  Maggie  than  all  else  com- 
bined. 

She  felt  strong  enough  before  the  week 
passed  to  talk  with  the  family  physician  about 
the  future  of  the  orphan  girl.  She  knew  there 
were  no  near  friends  and  but  a  small  property. 
The  house  had  been  rented  and  must  be  given 
up.  The  doctor  thought  she  must  be  sent  to 
some  family  school.  There  seemed  no  other 
way  to  dispose  of  her.  That  would  be  safe,  and 
if  ever  child  needed  discipline  Puss  did. 

She  was  called,  and  in  the  most  alluring 
terms  the  good  doctor  laid  the  matter  before 
her,  expecting  her  instant  acquiescence.  "  You  'd 
like  to  be  with  a  lot  of  nice  girls,  Puss  ?" 


THE   PLAGUE-STRICKEN  CITY.  443 

"  No,  I  should  hate  it.    I  sha'  n't  go  !" 

"  Ah-h-h  !  The  little  rebel !  What 's  to  be 
done?" 

She  was  too  much  for  the  doctor ;  he  gnawed 
his  grisly  moustache  with  perplexity  and  laughed 
helplessly  at  Maggie. 

"  My  poor  motherless  Puss,  I  wont  leave  you. 
You  shall  go  North  with  me.  I  know  Aunt 
Clarissa  too  well  to  fear.  I  promised  to  care  for 
you.  We  will  go  together." 

"  Will  we !  will  we !"  She  sprang  up,  danced 
and  laughed  with  glee,  then  in  a  fervor  of  love 
devoured  Maggie  with  kisses. 

Thus  it  was  arranged.  Clare  and  Julie  packed 
under  Maggie's  direction  all  she  thought  best  for 
Puss  to  retain  of  household  effects.  Much  was 
sold,  and  in  preparations  for  the  journey  her 
sorrow  lost  its  bitterest  sting. 

The  last  Monday  of  November  was  long  re- 
membered for  its  cheering  record ;  not  a  single 
new  case  reported  the  previous  day.  During  the 
night  the  thermometer  fell  rapidly  and  the  frost 
had  come.  All  this  week  the  army  of  glad  la- 
borers worked  with  a  will  to  put  every  corner  of 
the  city  into  gala-day  order  for  the  returning 
refugees. 

On  Thursday  of  that  week  the  entire  popula, 
tion  flocked  to  the  churches  for  thanksgiving 
services.  A  special  train  from  Fernandina,  with 


444  WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

a  company  of  its  citizens,  arrived  to  share  in  the 
rejoicing.  Hospitals  were  closed,  nurses  re- 
turned to  their  homes  after  a  short  detention  at 
Camp  Perry,  and  very  soon  hundreds  of  refu- 
gees could  be  seen  coming  in  by  teams,  steam- 
ers, rowboats,  and  cars.  The  greetings  were 
jubilant.  The  stay-at-homes  were  as  glad  to 
welcome  them  as  they  were  to  return. 

Then  a  strong,  full,  heartfelt  vote  of  grati- 
tude and  thanks  went  out  to  the  whole  country 
which  had  so  grandly  supported  them  under 
this  fearful  dispensation. 

At  last  Maggie  was  ready  to  start  for  home. 
Puss  was  quivering  with  excitement.  Dr.  Kent 
was  assisting  in  the  final  preparations,  when  a 
stifled  cry  from  Maggie  attracted  the  doctor's 
notice,  and  turning  to  the  door  he  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  Ned. 

"Well  done,  old  fellow!  How  came  you 
here  ?  What 's  the  matter  ?" 

"I  was  on  the  way  to  Aunt  Clarissa  and 
thought  I  'd  stop  and  see  you." 

"  Welcome,  Ned !  You  're  just  in  time  to  take 
care  of  my  patient.  She 's  to  start  to-morrow." 

"  May  I,  Maggie  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  Ned,  I  shall  be  so  glad !" 

"Are  they  all  well  at  home?"  broke  in  the 
doctor. 

"  All  well." 


WELCOME   HOME.  445 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

WELCOME  HOME. 

AUNT  CLARISSA  was  at  her  sister's  to  meet 
the  returning  party.  Ned  sent  no  word  in  ad- 
vance of  his  coming ;  only  Maggie  and  the  little 
girl  were  expected.  Barbara  remained  at  Stan- 
ton  Falls  with  Becky  to  help  in  the  welcome  of 
the  following  day. 

They  expected  to  see  the  ambitious  young 
nurse  a  mere  wreck  after  the  summer's  strain 
and  serious  illness ;  therefore  a  night's  rest  in 
the  city  was  thought  desirable.  The  home  was 
gay  with  hope  and  bright  as  love  could  make  it 
to  greet  her,  dearer  to  all  for  the  peril  she  had 
passed  through. 

It  was  nearly  time  for  the  train.  Uncle  Eric 
was  to  meet  her.  His  wife  waited  with  them. 
Clare  joined  the  impatient  Dot  at  the  window 
for  a  first  sight  of  the  carriage.  It  was  coming, 
had  turned  into  the  driveway,  was  before  the 
the  door.  What  an  air  of  triumph  the  coach- 
man had,  as  though,  Clare  thought,  he  had 
brought  them  all  the  way  from  the  fever  region. 
He  sprang  from  his  seat,  threw  wide  the  door. 
Uncle  Eric  was  out  and  lifting  a  mite  of  human- 
ity in  black  to  the  walk,  and — 


44^  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

"  Auntie !  auntie !"  called  Clare,  "  it  is  Ned ! 
It 's  surely  Cousin  Ned  with  Maggie  !  Oh  !" 

She  followed  Dot,  who  had  sped  to  the  hall, 
had  been  folded  in  Maggie's  arms,  rapturously 
kissed  her  cousin,  and  was  tenderly  greeting  the 
bewildered  stranger. 

"  Maggie,  child !" 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Clarissa !"  Maggie  sobbed  and 
laughed  nervously  as  she  clung  to  her. 

"  Give  us  a  chance,  sister.  Here  's  poor  Ned 
waiting  to  be  recognized." 

Mrs.  Hamlin  had  seldom  seen  her  sister  so 
overcome.  She  hastened  to  turn  the  tide  that 
all  might  share  in  the  greetings.  Dot  had  taken 
Puss  for  her  especial  charge,  divesting  the  child 
of  her  extra  wrappings  in  the  most  familiar 
manner. 

"Ned,  you  sly  boy,  why  didn't  you  write 
me  ?  Maggie  is  about  as  much  as  I  can  take  in 
with  safety  to  my  mental  balance." 

"  Had  n't  time,  auntie.  It  was  a  sudden  re- 
solve. I  wanted  to  consult  you  about  the  build- 
ing upon  that  lot  you  selected." 

"  Very  much  you  did !  Well,  it  shall  be  set- 
tled before  you  go  back.  But,  Maggie  child,  you 
look  nearly  as  fresh  as  ever,  a  trifle  thinner  and 
a  little  big-eyed." 

"  It 's  difficult  to  credit  your  sickness,  Mag- 
gie, with  those  cheeks  before  us;  I  hardly  be- 


WELCOME  HOME.  447 

lieve  it.  Was  she  very  sick,  Puss?"  Uncle 
Eric  pinched  the  child's  ear. 

"  Awful !"  her  great  staring  black  eyes  fixed 
seriously  on  his  and  her  voice  as  grave  as  the 
fact  itself  had  been. 

Mr.  Hamlin  found  a  merry  company  at  din- 
ner, and  evinced  in  his  way  as  much  interest  in 
Maggie's  safe  return  as  any.  They  were  bent 
upon  making  a  heroine  of  her.  Much  as  they 
had  suffered  from  fear,  they  were  now  filled 
with  pride  and  triumph.  They  felt  that  each 
had  a  part  in  the  glorious  sacrifice.  Had  they 
not  yielded  her  to  the  fearful  demand,  ignorant, 
to  be  sure,  of  her  danger  ?  Had  they  not  shared 
in  the  terror,  the  doubts,  now  also  in  the  glad 
consummation  ?  And  Maggie  received  it  as  the 
warm-hearted  delight  of  dear  friends  in  her  safe 
home-coming.  Her  joy  was  enveloped  in  the 
lovely  mantle  of  humility.  Christ,  her  divine 
Master,  had  given  her  the  work,  had  accepted 
the  lowly  consecration  of  herself  to  his  service. 
She  had  obeyed  his  word,  loving  to  "  abide  in 
him,"  feeling  assured  that  her  success,  whether 
much  or  little,  had  come  through  his  love  and 
her  dependence  upon  him.  He  had  said  years 
before,  in  plain  language  that  she  could  under- 
stand, "  If  ye  love  me,  keep  my  commandments," 
and  the  aim  of  her  life  since  had  been  to  dwell 
in  that  love,  which  is  the  only  safe  guide  of  any 


WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

life.  Now,  nearly  well  and  strong  as  ever,  she 
was  ready  to  go  on  with  the  work  he  had  ap- 
pointed. 

The  buzz  of  conversation  went  steadily  on. 
There  was  much  to  learn,  much  to  tell. 

Ned  inquired  of  Clare  about  Jack. 

"  He  is  studying  in  Germany — has  been  away 
but  a  few  months." 

"  How  could  Mrs.  Ellis  let  him  go?" 

"  She  is  stronger,  Maggie,  and  so  self-sacrifi- 
cing, you  know." 

"  I  do  n't  call  it  a  sacrifice  to  do  what  adds  to 
our  own  happiness."  Aunt  Clarissa  spoke  in 
her  usual  sharp  style. 

"  Why,  auntie,  a  year's  absence  does  n't  bring 
his  mother  happiness.  She  never  seemed  to 
thrive  but  in  his  presence.  She  misses  him 
hourly." 

"  No  doubt,  Clare  ;  but  his  success  will  bring  a 
higher  satisfaction  than  his  presence  would  with- 
out it.  There  are  degrees  of  happiness.  He  's  a 
kind  of  protege  of  yours,  Agnes,  I  believe." 

"  Hardly  that,  but  a  dear  friend.  We  have 
great  faith  in  him." 

"  And  Burr,  Clare  ?  He  was  one  of  the  cir- 
cle; quiet,  but  a  first-rate  fellow,  I  thought." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Ned.  Burr  is  Clare's  favorite, 
because  Etta  's  her  chum,  I  suppose.  He  's  a 
bookworm  too,"  interrupted  Dot. 


WELCOME  HOME.  449 

"What  is  he  doing,  Clare?"  he  asked,  noti- 
cing the  flush  that  came  and  quickly  faded  from 
the  young  girl's  face. 

"  He  is  studying  for  the  ministry." 

"Good!  The  fellows  are  all  getting  ahead 
of  me." 

"Your  time  will  come,  Ned,  and  you  are  not 
standing  still  now,  my  boy,"  said  his  aunt. 

"  Is  Etta  as  devoted  to  Hale  as  ever  ?" 

"  Yes ;  they  are  inseparable." 

"Well,  young  people,  we  must  have  one 
grand  gathering  before  Ned  goes  back — bring 
the  friends  together.  When  do  you  go,  Ned  ?" 

"  How  long  will  you  keep  me  ?" 

"  Ah  that 's  the  point.  We  '11  talk  that  over 
after  we  settle  about  the  merry-making.  Clare 
may  be  mistress  of  ceremony,  only  make  it  in- 
formal. We  can't  have  Jack,  but  Etta  and  her 
brothers,  and  that  Nellie  I  have  so  disapproved 
of,  though  Barbara  has  a  tender  feeling  for  her 
now.  Come  early,  make  it  a  five  o'clock  affair, 
and  catch  the  late  train  home.  Will  that  be 
stylish  enough?" 

"Auntie,  it  will  be  delightful." 

"  Well,  to-morrow  afternoon  Maggie,  Puss, 
and  I  will  go  home.  Ned  will  stay  here  until 
I  've  had  Maggie  a  few  days  to  myself.  By  the 
way,  what 's  this  child's  name  ?  I  do  n't  intend  to 
ring  the  changes  on  that  ridiculous  cognomen." 

What  Gtrl«  C»n  Do.  2Q 


WHAT  GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

"  Her  name  is  Ruth  Ripley,  auntie ;  but — " 

"  Well,  call  her  Ruth,  then." 

"  I  like  Puss  best,"  muttered  the  girl,  a  sud- 
den flash  gleaming  from  her  black  eyes. 

Uncle  Eric,  who  pitied  the  little  object, 
whispered,  "  Ruthie  is  the  prettiest.  Cats  have 
claws  and  scratch.  Little  maidens  like  you  are 
nicer  than  cats." 

She  nestled  closer  and  smiled  in  his  face. 
Aunt  Agnes  had  drawn  near  and  was  making 
friends  with  the  little  stranger.  She  had  never 
been  in  so  merry  a  company  and  was  becoming 
quite  content. 

Evening  brought  Etta  and  Nellie  with  a  glad 
welcome  for  the  new-comers.  Nellie  had  learned 
in  the  days  they  were  helping  Barbara  to  respect 
Maggie's  steadfast  character  and  self-denying 
life  ;  the  young  nurse's  heroic  qualities  had  won 
her  admiration.  She  was  growing  magnani- 
mous, even  to  retreating  nearly  out  of  sight,  in 
her  enthusiasm  over  the  two  girl  friends,  and 
very  winning,  as  forgetting  her  own  charms  she 
portrayed  those  of  Barbara. 

Clare  left  the  circle  to  consult  her  aunt  about 
the  invitations. 

"  To-day  is  Wednesday.  Ned  can  stay  ten 
days  longer.  Will  next  Tuesday  do  ?" 

"  Nicely.  Shall  I  ask  them  now  and  send  to 
Burr  at  once  ?" 


WELCOME   HOME.  451 

"  Yes.  Have  Etta  bring  Hale  for  Ruth  to 
enjoy." 

"  I  will ;  that  will  be  nice." 

Miss  Brainard  omitted  nothing  that  would 
add  pleasure  to  any.  Her  life  had  been  spent 
for  others ;  once  more  the  old  home  walls  should 
ring  with  merriment.  They  would  count  up 
their  mercies  and  be  glad,  young  and  old  to- 
gether. 

Nellie  was  happy  to  be  again  one  of  the  cir- 
cle. There  was  evident  delight  in  meeting  her 
former  teacher,  and  with  a  half-laugh  she  said, 
"  I  know  I  shall  forget  and  call  you  Miss  Gray." 

"  The  name  still  seems  to  belong  to  me.  You 
must  come  to  my  home,  Nellie,  with  Clare,  and 
learn  to  know  me  outside  the  schoolroom." 

"  I  will.  I  want  to  tell  you  something  too ;" 
she  lowered  her  voice.  "  I  never  dreamed  I  was 
being  so  hateful  till  dear  Bab  saved  me  from 
burning.  Oh,  Miss  Gray,  how  could  you  be  so 
patient  with  me !" 

"  The  patience,  Nellie,  was  very  slight.  I 
believed  you  would  some  time  learn  to  know 
Barbara  and  would  love  her." 

"  I  do  love  her.     I  can't  help  it." 

The  next  day  Barbara  flitted  excitedly  about 
the  house,  arranging  the  large  rooms  until  a  lux- 
urious  air  of  comfort  pervaded  them,  and  even 
her  exquisite  taste  suggested  nothing  more.  A 


WHAT   GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

fire  blazed  on  every  open  hearth  ;  the  great  hall 
stove  sent  out  its  glowing  heat,  radiating  from 
all  points  and  pervading  every  corner  of  the 
generous  space  and  ample  stairway.  Maggie's 
room  was  glowing  with  the  prodigal  splendor  of 
autumn  leaves,  clumps  of  sumach  buds,  and  run- 
ning vines  splendid  with  ripe  tints.  It  was  a 
dream  of  Indian  summer. 

Barbara  caught  sight  from  the  window  of  the 
"accommodation,"  as  the  station  conveyance 
was  termed,  being  drawn  as  fast  as  the  half-fed 
horse  was  able  to  move  it  with  its  unusual  load. 
A  swift  rustling  movement  took  her  to  the  door, 
calling,  as  she  passed  the  great  sunny  kitchen, 

"They  are  here,  Becky!" 

"  Praise  the  Lord !"  came  from  her  odorous 
domain ;  and  the  tall,  lank  form,  in  shining 
black  alpaca  in  honor  of  the  occasion,  stood  in 
the  doorway. 

Barbara  was  already  at  the  carriage-door  with 
arms  about  Maggie. 

The  child,  an  object  of  interest,  was  received 
agreeably  and  ministered  to  kindly  by  Becky. 
Puss  was  soon  attracted  to  that  cheery  corner  of 
the  house.  The  variety  of  dainties  spread  be- 
fore her  in  the  well-filled  pantry  proved  a  tempt- 
ing bait  to  the  hungry,  sad-looking  girl,  whose 
change  of  climate  had  given  her  a  ravenous 
appetite. 


WELCOME  HOME.  453 

Maggie  drew  a  long  breath  of  thorough  satis- 
faction  in  finding  herself  at  home.  How  glad 
she  was ;  the  measure  of  joy  full  to  overflow ! 
How  bright  to  have  Bab  flitting  about  her  like  a 
cheerful  little  brown  sparrow,  to  see  Becky's 
joy  and  Aunt  Clarissa's  increased  content.  She 
wandered  from  room  to  room,  noticed  all  Bar- 
bara's dainty  touches,  softening  the  severity  of 
the  old-style  furnishing,  and  rummaged  in  all 
the  closets  and  chests  of  drawers  for  toys  and 
games  to  amuse  Ruth.  Nothing  suited  the  child 
so  entirely  as  the  old  settle  in  the  warm  corner 
of  the  kitchen,  with  Becky's  lazy  tabby  curled 
beside  her  purring  in  the  sun.  Ruth  missed  the 
summer  warmth  she  had  been  accustomed  to, 
though  Aunt  Clarissa  prophesied  a  benefit  from 
the  change  in  due  time. 

Ned  appeared  Saturday  forenoon  in  the  midst 
of  preparation  for  the  coming  festivity.  He  was 
eager  for  a  confidential  talk  with  Aunt  Clarissa. 
She  felt  it  in  the  air,  but  bluffed  him  off  until 
his  face  told  her  it  must  come  or  there  would  be 
an  explosion. 

"  There,  girls,  Becky  does  n't  want  you  round 
any  longer.  The  cake  is  perfect  and  she  prefers 
to  get  dinner  alone.  You  may  take  Ruth  and 
rest  an  hour.  Ned,  come  with  me.  We  '11  plan 
for  that  tent  at  the  South." 

The   cheery   living-room,   its  windows  gay 


454  WHAT   GIRLS   CAN  DO. 

with  blossoms,  its  open  fireplace  sending  out 
rays  of  light  and  heat,  was  just  the  place  for 
Ned's  confidential  interview  with  his  aunt.  He 
drew  his  chair  near  the  blaze  and  stood  by  the 
high  mantel,  nervously  fingering  the  quaint  or- 
naments of  an  older  time. 

"  Now,  Ned,  what  is  it  ?  I  've  had  no  chance 
for  a  talk  with  you,  so  much  to  say  to  Maggie. 
So  the  land  is  really  cleared  ?" 

"  All  ready  for  your  plan,  auntie." 

"  Well,  this  evening  you  young  people  may 
try  your  skill  at  plans.  It  will  interest  you  all. 
I  believe  Barbara  could  carry  out  my  idea.  Is 
it  a  pretty  spot  ?" 

"  Oh  it 's  fine,  auntie.  You  must  remember, 
between  the  doctor's  and  the  old  hummock  road ; 
everything  cleared  away  but  a  few  oaks,  ready 
to  be  planted  with  Bermuda  grass.  There  will 
be  a  fine  slope  of  lawn  to  the  lake." 

"  And  you  want  to  begin  soon  to  build  ?" 

"This  winter  if  you  like." 

"  H  *m,  if  I  like.  Now,  Ned,  did  you  really 
come  all  the  way  on  here  to  consult  me  about 
this — only  this  ?" 

"  No."  He  looked  into  her  eyes  with  a  flush 
that  passed  and  a  quiver  of  the  lip  he  tried  to 
control. 

She  would  not  help  him. 

"  The  house  is  for  you  all  if  brother  and  your 


WELCOME  HOME.  455 

mother  prefer  it  to  their  own  cosey  place.  I  only 
want  a  wing  for  winter  use  ;  and  now  what  more 
can  I  do,  Ned?" 

"  Mother  likes  the  old  place  too  well  to 
change." 

"No?    What  then?" 

"  Oh,  auntie,  you  know  well  enough.  Do  n't 
quiz  me.  I  want  to  make  a  home  there  for  Mag- 
gie." He  came  and  stood  before  her. 

"  For  Maggie  !  Well,  she  is  of  age,  she  can 
speak  for  herself." 

"  Do  you  consent  ?" 


"  I  do  n't  quite  know.  I  came  first  for  your 
'God-speed,'  Aunt  Clarissa." 

She  could  hold  out  no  longer. 

"  You  have  it,  Ned,  with  all  my  heart  ;  you 
have  earned  it.  Nothing  could  make  me  hap- 
pier; nothing  could  be  better." 

He  kissed  her,  with  eyes  full  of  love  and 
thanks. 

It  was  a  quiet  engagement,  the  natural  result 
of  a  friendship  that  had  moved  calmly  on  from 
childhood.  At  least  Ned  remembered  the  ten- 
der pity  that  sprang  up  in  his  boyish  heart  long 
ago,  on  that  stormy  morning,  as  the  homeless 
waif  fixed  her  large  despairing  eyes  on  Aunt 
Clarissa's  face,  silently  pleading  for  the  love  and 
protection  so  generously  given  since,  given  in 


WHAT   GIRLS   CAJST   DO. 

His  name  who  had  said.  "  Whoso  shall  receive 
one  such  little  child  in  my  name  receiveth  me." 

Auntie,  who  may  or  may  not  have  passed 
through  a  like  experience — the  young  people 
never  knew — drew  Barbara  and  Puss  with  her 
into  Becky's  quarters,  ostensibly  to  prepare  Mag- 
gie's favorite  dish  ;  and  as  they  all  met  at  table, 
the  triumph  on  Ned's  face  and  the  grateful  love 
shining  from  Maggie's  dark  eyes  in  response  to 
auntie's  questioning  glance,  revealed  her  pure 
joy  to  the  elder  friend.  • 

That  evening  the  four  clustered  around  the 
table  with  material  for  making  plans  for  a  South- 
ern home. 

"You  don't  want  it  like  your  father's  place, 
Ned,  or  so  extensive  as  the  doctor's  ?" 

"  No,  mother  likes  the  old  cracker  home, 
though,  now  it  is  remodelled." 

"  This  is  the  dearest  home  I  know  ;  why  not 
have  it  like  this  ?" 

"  Ah,  Maggie,  this  would  not  do  at  all  for  a 
lakeside  cottage  at  the  South.  It  would  be  as 
incongruous  as  an  elephant  in  a  flower  garden. 
We  want  plenty  of  space  on  the  ground,  nothing 
extra  simply  to  be  burdensome,  with  closets 
everywhere  and  verandas  all  the  way  round. 
Now  see  which  of  you  will  do  the  best." 

There  was  great  merriment  over  the  unu- 
sual efforts,  the  partial  success  or  entire  failure. 


\ 


WELCOME   HOME.  457 

"  I  can  make  plenty  of  lovely  rooms,  but  I 
don't  know  where  to  put  closets,  windows  or 
doors,  nor  the  slightest  chance  to  locate  a  chim- 
ney," laughed  Maggie. 

Ned  brought  forward  a  very  symmetrical 
oblong  box,  resembling  a  tool-chest  divided  into 
compartments  by  two  broad  passageways  run- 
ning at  right  angles ;  but  how  to  furnish  more 
than  four  rooms  without  using  the  cover  of  the 
box  was  a  mystery  to  him. 

It  was  Barbara  who  succeeded  in  throwing 
the  first  clear  light  upon  the  subject.  Her  neat 
slip  held  a  well-proportioned  ground-plan,  with 
breezy  halls  running  from  door  to  door,  as  Aunt 
Clarissa  had  described,  and  plenty  of  rooms 
opening  upon  the  veranda,  that,  partially  cov- 
ered, encircled  the  house  and  connected  it  with 
a  separate  building  for  cooking. 

"  How  did  you  do  it  ?  One  would  think  you 
had  been  there,  little  Barby." 

"  I  have  in  dreams,  Maggie.  It 's  only  put- 
ting auntie's  ideas  on  paper ;  but  I  think  it  would 
puzzle  the  builder  to  carry  it  out." 

"  No,  it  would  n't.  An  architect  would  get 
your  idea  at  once.  You  've  hit  the  mark,  Bar- 
bara," said  Ned  gayly. 

"  It 's  certainly  very  nice,  child.  There  are 
the  family  rooms,  with  windows  and  doors  con- 
venient,  and  generous  closets.  Here  is  my 


WHAT   GIRLS  CAN   DO. 

corner,  with  a  nest  for  yourself — and  that  re- 
minds me." 

She  went  to  an  ancient  carved  desk,  richly 
colored  by  age,  standing  upon  high,  claw-footed 
legs  in  a  distant  corner,  its  brass  trimmings  re- 
flecting light  from  the  smouldering  coals ;  open- 
ing the  doors  she  drew  from  a  compartment  an 
old  ledger-shaped  book  which  she  placed  before 
them. 

"  I  do  n't  know,  Ned,  but  you  '11  be  interested 
in  items  put  down  here  by  your  ancestor  far 
back  who  built  the  home." 

"  Indeed  I  should.  I  did  n't  know  such  a 
thing  existed." 

"  This  very  house  we  are  in  ?"  asked  Maggie. 

"  Yes,  Maggie,  this  very  house,  just  as  it  was 
built  in  1757,  and  all  the  items  of  its  construc- 
tion registered  in  these  quaint  characters  for 
future  generations  to  puzzle  over.  Look,  Ned." 

He  was  absorbed  at  once. 

"  See  here,  this  is  a  bill  for  '  ye  boards,'  and 
another  for  'ye  keg  of  nails.'  Here  comes  in 
the  timber  cut  and  hewn,  and  farther  along  '  the 
soldiers  of  the  Revolution  were  confined  here.' 
There  are  items  of  the  cost  of  each  meal.  They 
lived  well  in  those  times.  Our  great-great- 
grandfather was  a  methodical  old  gentleman, 
auntie.  Over  a  hundred  years  old !  and  the 
house  looks  good  for  another  hundred." 


WELCOME   HOME.  459 

These  carefully  penned  accounts,  with  their 
ancient  orthography,  absorbed  them  until  Aunt 
Clarissa  warned  them  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour, 
and  that  they  must  be  fresh  for  the  Sabbath. 

The  Tuesday  gathering  brought  a  chorus  of 
congratulatory  greetings  for  Ned  and  Maggie. 
Their  plans  were  discussed  with  deep  interest. 
The  entire  circle  wished  them  abundant  happi- 
ness. Maggie  was  the  bright  star  among  them. 
She  carried  herself  royally ;  her  life-work  had 
come  early  to  her ;  she  had  succeeded  even  be- 
yond auntie's  hopes,  whose  faith  in  her  had  re- 
ceived no  check  from  the  moment  she  began  her 
new  duties.  And  as  she  took  her  place  at  the 
table  for  the  younger  guests,  in  a  cosey  supper- 
room  apart  from  the  elders,  she  was  conscious 
that  an  unexpected  blessing  had  crowned  her  life. 
An  earnest  desire  was  formed  in  her  soul  to 
continue  to  live  for  others,  a  determination  to 
minister  in  God's  world  to  all  who  needed  any 
help  she  was  capable  of  giving. 

Burr  and  Ned  stood  near  to  take  the  old, 
fragile  china,  with  its  fragrant  beverage,  to  the 
scattered  groups,  while  bubbling  laughter  and 
merry  chatter  filled  the  room.  Long  months  of 
labor,  pain,  and  disaster  were  forgotten  ;  joy  and 
brightness  triumphed.  Hale  and  Ruth  were 
everywhere,  their  favorite  rendezvous  being 
with  Becky,  helping  in  the  free,  unconventional 


460  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

manner  of  the  house,  as  she  passed  among  the 
guests. 

In  the  large  dining-room  auntie  presided, 
giving  a  picture  of  her  plans,  in  connection  with 
Ned's  desires,  to  an  interested  group  circled 
about  the  table. 

"  I  'm  going  to  keep  the  child  with  me  a  year 
at  all  events,  though  that  dear  old  mother  Kent 
almost  compels  me  to  shorten  the  time.  I  shall 
not  give  her  up  until  she  goes  to  her  own  home, 
which  is  to  be  my  gift  to  Ned.  He  will  build 
this  winter,  and  within  the  year  I  suppose  the 
old  homestead  will  see  the  first  wedding  of  the 
younger  generation.  We'll  try  to  make  it  as 
gay  as  yours,  Dolly,  so  long  ago.  Ah  me !" 

Uncle  Eric  responded  to  the  pathetic  close  of 
her  long  speech  with  a  peal  of  laughter  that 
drew  Ned  £rom  the  smaller  room. 

"What's  the  fun,  Uncle  Eric?" 

"  Partly  on  your  account,  young  man.  Why 
are  you  stealing  such  a  march  on  us  ?  I  'm  not 
yet  convinced  of  your  right  to  deprive  us  of 
Maggie.  Defend  yourself  if  you  can." 

"  You  should  n't  set  the  example.  I  Ve  been 
taught  it  was  safe  to  follow  your  lead,  sir." 

The  tables  were  turned.  Ned  rejoined  the 
younger  group,  who  were  begging  Dot  for  a 
song,  and  very  soon  her  sweet  tones  drew  Aunt 
Agnes  to  them.  Her  full  contralto  added  to  the 


WELCOME  HOME.  461 

brightness  of  the  evening.  She  gave  them  a 
sense  of  rich  companionship,  and  gradually  the 
elder  party  were  drawn  by  the  music,  the  two 
elements  mingling  most  agreeably  until  the 
hour  of  separation  and  lively  good-nights. 

It  would  be  pleasant  to  dwell  upon  the  vary- 
ing scenes  of  the  following  year,  noting  the 
progress  our  young  friends  made.  Maggie  was 
frequently  interrupting  her  preparations  for  a 
Southern  life  to  respond  to  calls  from  one  and 
another  sick-room,  continuing  the  kindly  over- 
sight of  the  old  rag-picker,  who  still  looks  upon 
her  nurse  Maggie  as  a  ministering  spirit.  All 
noticed  Barbara's  unassuming  response  to  de- 
mands— now  a  home  to  be  made  attractive  for  a 
friend,  then  a  few  days  spent  in  cheering  Mrs. 
Ellis  in  her  loneliness,  or  in  other  quiet  ways 
bringing  friends  to  feel  the  need  of  her  modest 
services. 

Dot  was  still  singing  her  way  into  hearts,  not 
with  mere  selfish  gratification,  but  in  the  Mas- 
ter's service.  Etta,  frank  and  outspoken  still, 
gave  her  strong  bright  spirit  to  the  mother's 
help  in  fitting  four  manly  boys  for  valiant  ser- 
vice in  the  world. 

Nellie  was  still  fluttering,  but  taking  more 
frequent  flights  into  the  higher,  purer  atmos- 
phere of  unselfishness. 

Clare  was  still  rejoicing  in  the  master's  ap- 


462  WHAT  GIRLS  CAN  DO. 

proval,  rewarded  by-and-by  with  an  invitation 
to  spend  the  long  summer  vacation  with  them 
across  the  ocean,  so  fulfilling  a  dream  of  her 
youth. 

Thus  they  gathered  up  the  days  and  strung 
them,  as  a  maiden  her  pearls,  with  love  and  duty ; 
not  all  were  glowing  with  equal  brightness,  but 
there  were  none  dark  enough  to  check  their  spir- 
its' overflow  or  chill  their  joyous  ardor. 

The  long  winter  passed  with  its  abundant 
opportunities,  and  summer  days  followed  with 
bright  rare  gifts.  Then  came  the  friends  from 
the  South  to  spend  a  little  time  together  in  the 
dear  old  home  and  claim  the  reward  of  patient 
waiting. 

Later  Dr.  Kent  and  wife  joined  them,  and 
the  sweet  face  of  mother  Kent  beamed  upon 
them  with  sympathetic  beauty.  It  was  less  than 
a  year  since  Maggie's  return.  How  difficult  to 
hide  the  joy  they  felt  in  the  certainty  of  taking 
her  back  to  dwell  among  them  ! 

Just  as  October  ripened  into  glorious  beauty, 
waving  gay  signals  on  every  hillside  and  lifting 
bright  banners  on  every  tree-top,  there  was  a 
quiet  family  wedding  in  the  ancient  mansion, 
with  everything  to  make  it  bright  and  hopeful 
but  the  certainty  of  separation  that  must  follow. 
Barbara  moved  softly  among  a  wealth  of  flow- 
ers for  the  final  decoration,  Becky  surveyed 


WELCOME  HOME.  463 

seriously  the  lavish  display  of  her  own  particu- 
lar province,  and  Aunt  Clarissa  carried  on  her 
face  a  grim  smile  that  entirely  failed  to  conceal 
from  the  friends  the  heart-ache  beneath. 

Despite  the  lurking  pain,  the  shadow  of  a 
near  breaking  up,  the  seriousness  of  the  cere- 
mony,  always  tinged  with  solemnity  to  earnest 
souls,  the  farewells  that  followed  were  bright- 
ened with  the  hope  of  many  a  meeting  in  years 
to  come. 

At  the  last  Maggie  turned  with  moist  eyes  to 
Aunt  Clarissa  and  was  folded  to  her  faithful 
heart.  A  whispered  blessing  met  her  ear :  "  God 
give  you  strength  and  grace,  my  child,  to  go  on 
as  you  have  begun,  faithful  to  duty,  ministering 
to  all  hearts  '  in  His  name/  " 


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